100 Themes as Tackled by Gum
by Thnx4theGum
Summary: 100 oneshots based on a 100 themes challenge. They'll cover all of the characters and will include things I thought were missing from some of the episodes. The list is included so you can see all of the themes.Rated T as a precaution only.
1. The List

Here is the list of themes I'll be covering. I'm not going in order and it's not a continuous story. A lot of them are little snippets that I wish we would see on the show but haven't. I didn't make up the list but I'm having a lot of fun with it. As always, I don't own any Bones save my own.

**100 Themes**

**1. ****Introduction**** 2. ****Love**** 3. ****Light**** 4. ****Dark **

**5. ****Seeking Solace**** 6. ****Break Away**** 7. ****Heaven**** 8. ****Innocence**

**9. ****Drive**** 10. ****Breathe Again**** 11. ****Memory**** 12. ****Insanity**

**13. ****Misfortune**** 14. ****Smile**** 15. ****Silence**** 16. ****Questioning**

**17. ****Blood**** 18. ****Rainbow**** 19. ****Gray**** 20. ****Fortitude**

**21. ****Vacation**** 22. ****Mother Nature**** 23. ****Cat**** 24. ****No Time**

**25. ****Trouble****Lurking ****26. ****Tears**** 27. ****Foreign**** 28. ****Sorrow**

**29. ****Happiness**** 30. ****Under the Rain**** 31. ****Flowers**** 32. ****Night**

**33. ****Expectations**** 34. ****Stars**** 35. ****Hold My Hand**** 36. ****Precious Treasure**

**37. Eyes 38. ****Abandoned**** 39. ****Dreams**** 40. ****Rated**

**41. ****Teamwork**** 42. ****Standing Still**** 43. ****Dying**** 44. ****Two Roads**

**45. ****Illusion**** 46. ****Family**** 47. ****Creation**** 48. ****Childhood**

**49. ****Stripes**** 50. ****Breaking the Rules ****51. ****Sport**** 52. ****Deep in Thought**

**53. ****Keeping a Secret**** 54. ****Tower**** 55. ****Waiting**** 56. ****Danger****Ahead**

**57. ****Sacrifice**** 58. ****Kick in the Head**** 59. ****No Way Out**** 60. ****Rejection**

**61. ****Fairy Tale**** 62. ****Magic**** 63. ****Do Not Disturb**** 64. ****Multitasking**

**65. ****Horror**** 66. ****Traps**** 67. ****Playing the Melody**** 68. ****Hero**

**69. ****Annoyance**** 70. ****67%**** 71. ****Obsession**** 72. ****Mischief Managed**

**73.**** I Can't**** 74. ****Are You Challenging Me?**** 75. ****Mirror**

**76. ****Broken Pieces ****77. ****Test**** 78. ****Drink**** 79. ****Starvation **

**80. ****Words**** 81. ****Pen and Paper**** 82. ****Can You Hear Me?**** 83. ****Heal**

**84. ****Out Cold**** 85. ****Spiral**** 86. ****Seeing Red**** 87. ****Food**

**88. ****Pain**** 89. ****Through the Fire**** 90. ****Triangle**** 91. ****Drowning**

**92. ****All That I Have**** 93. ****Give Up**** 94. ****Last Hope**** 95. ****Advertisement**

**96. ****In the Storm**** 97. ****Safety First**** 98. ****Puzzle**** 99. ****Solitude**

**100. ****Relaxation**


	2. Introduction

Introduction

Dr. Temperance Brennan, newly minted head of forensic anthropology at the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington, DC, decided to spend her first weekend in town at the Georgia O'Keefe art exhibit that was currently showing at the art museum. True, there were several things that she could have been doing- not least among them sorting out all of her things out of their boxes at her new apartment. But O'Keefe was one of her favorite artists and she had a feeling that she would be very busy once her job started on Monday.

The exhibit was every bit as enthralling as she had thought it would be. The flower paintings were beautiful, though some were a bit abstract for her taste, but what truly drew her to O'Keefe were the skull paintings. Placed in numerous settings from the desert, to simple, non-descript white and blue backgrounds, the pieces drew her in like a magnet.

Perhaps it was because of her own extensive work with human skulls, but not only was she drawn in by the accuracy and attention to detail on the O'Keefe skull paintings, she was also intrigued as to what the flesh counterparts of those skulls may have looked like. It was like a game to her, to try and determine what the livestock may or may not have looked like- which was very much in the same vein of what she did for a living.

Dragging her eyes from the canvas in front of her to check the time she noticed a woman about her own age, with a drawing tablet and a charcoal pencil, carefully sketching something. Usually, Brennan was not one to stare, but the tablet caught her interest because the artist at work was putting on to paper exactly what Brennan had been envisioning in her own mind: a face on the horse from the skull in the portrait.

Her curiosity piqued, she watched as the young woman worked, a sense of awe overtaking her as she watched each stroke breathe life into the dry bones of the skull.

"Excuse me," Brennan said, hoping that she would not be perceived as rude for interrupting, "Your work is marvelous."

"This old thing?" the artist turned to her, revealing a smiling face framed by dark, shoulder-length hair, "I just thought the poor thing deserved more than a bare skull," she pointed to the O'Keefe painting in front of them.

"It's highly accurate and very aesthetically pleasing," Brennan complimented her, "I was envisioning the same thing myself."

"And here I thought I was the only one who did stuff like that," the artist replied, thrusting out her hand, "I'm Angela Montenegro, by the way."

"Dr. Temperance Brennan," they shook hands, "I could never translate my thoughts to paper in the way that you do."

Angela shrugged, "It's second nature for me."

A thought occurred to Brennan, "I don't wish to be rude but are you currently employed?"

Angela threw back her head and laughed, "Sweetie, I just finished backpacking through Europe, so no, no job for me."

"Would you be interested in one?" Brennan asked, "It would involve doing very similar work to what you are drawing right now."

"You want me to put faces to horse skulls?" Angela raised her eyebrow and sounded uncertain.

"Humans actually," Brennan clarified, "I'm a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute and I am in the process of forming a forensics team to assist me. I believe your work could aid our work immensely."

"Sure," Angela shrugged, shocking the young doctor, "Anything I need to do?"

"I will speak with my supervisor tonight," Brennan promised her, "But I believe it will not be an issue."

"Okay," the artist began packing her things into a small bag, "I'm starving! You wanna grab something to eat?"

"Yes, are you familiar with any restaurants in the area?"

"There are some great Thai places," Angela said as the two headed for the exit, "And an Indian place that is to die for."

Brennan wasn't sure why one would want to die for a restaurant, but she did not wish to look ignorant in front of her new friend and merely replied, "Either one is fine in my opinion."

"Indian it is!" Angela declared, "Ya know, this just could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship!"

"I don't know what that means," Brennan admitted, "But as I am new to the area, and since we will most likely together, I am not opposed to the idea in the least."

Angela laughed again and the two headed off together into the night.


	3. Love

Love

"I love you."

The words came from the television set, but all she could hear was his voice- the past reverberated in her mind and an involuntary shudder ran through her as she remembered. Like a junkie fixing for her next hit, all she could feel was his breath on her neck, his taste in her mouth as their tongues collided and danced together. She craved his scent cloying to the sheets after a night- or morning- or afternoon of passion. She grinned wryly, once they had started, it had been impossible to stop- and yet for some reason, they had.

She watched the couple on the screen as they walked off together into the sunset. Things never ended up that way for her.

They were supposed to get married. Her father was there and her friends too, but it was not to be. They left before the ceremony could even begin and at the time had grinned and not looked back. There were pieces of her past that needed to be resolved before they could move forward, they decided. It frightened her to search for them, but she did it out of love.

Love- just at the time when she thought that all of the stars would align and allow them a life of happiness, she had made an error in judgment that had cost her his trust. And, really, what was love without trust?

She cried the first night, and the next, and the next. She hid it deep so that no one could see and avoided all references to their life as it should have been. He stewed for all to see while she remained reserved.

Had it truly been love? Could love have been broken so easily?

He had told her once that all diamonds have a shatter-point and that if you hit it at that point it would fragment with very little effort. Perhaps trust was the shatter-point and all it took was one indiscretion.

Or it had never been love in the first place- just two people exerting their biological urges on one another. Lust, unlike the illusive love, was only temporary; even she knew that.

When hiding her feelings hadn't worked she tried a different path- an old love at a new time. But that too dissolved just as it had before and once again they went their separate ways.

Her mind wondered to her friends. Those two were more in love than she had ever been and they didn't even realize yet- well, she had an inkling that he knew, but his partner still had some ground to catch up. She would though; her learning curve was extremely steep and he would be waiting for her when she got there.

Perhaps somewhere, a love like that was waiting for her- not one that would fade but a true love that would last the rest of her life. She hoped so, because regardless of what she had told the kid shrink, she knew that she hadn't found it yet.

The credits rolled, the sappy music ended, and Angela Montenegro turned off the TV and the lights and went to bed- alone.


	4. Light

Light

It happened every year when this day came around- not a birthday or even the date of someone's death- but a memorable day nonetheless. Four years had now passed since she had looked up and seen the face of her mother staring back at her in the Angelator.

Until that day, she had always held out hope that her parents were alive somewhere- that they had been taken against their will and were doing everything in their means to get back to her. It was irrational, of course, with all of the time that had passed, to think such a thing was possible, but she had allowed herself that one fantasy. And so today marked the death of her dreams and left only the sting of reality.

She fought back the tears and the heaviness that were trying to take over and failed. The words on the paperwork before her turned to meaningless symbols, before becoming blurred by her tears. It felt as if the weight of the world were bearing down entirely on her shoulders and she stood slowly and trudged over to her couch, collapsing in an undignified heap.

The blanket was waiting for her, draped over the couch as usual and she pulled it close, cocooning herself it its warmth and inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm herself. The scent of Booth's cologne still lingered and it eventually lulled her to sleep.

****

He stood just outside her door, not sure if he dared enter. He knew what today was, what it meant to her, and could only imagine what she was doing to herself to push all of her feelings away. One year he had taken her to the graveside, another they'd just gone to the diner and talked about anything and everything except her family. Steeling his resolve for whatever he would find, he squared his shoulders and entered the office without knocking.

He surveyed the room. Her desk was in its normal state of organized chaos, though she was not sitting at it as he'd expected. He turned to the coat rack and confirmed that her jacket and purse were still there so she had not left. He already knew that she wasn't on the platform or in Limbo, so that just left one place.

Walking as softly as he could, he crept around the couch and smiled. She was asleep, curled up in her blanket.

"You know," she lifted her head lazily and opened her eyes, "For a sniper you sure do make a lot of noise."

He threw his arms up in the air and gave her an innocent grin that said he had no clue what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes at him, then sat up slowly and tilted her head, inviting him to joint her on the couch.

"You know what we doing today, Bones?" he asked, putting his arm around her.

She frowned at the arm but let him keep it there, "I wasn't aware that _we_ are doing anything."

"Ah," he tapped her nose with the hand that wasn't resting just above her shoulder, "But we are."

"Booth," she looked at him and there was so much emotion in that one word he knew she was hurting inside, "I'm just not up to anything today- perhaps tomorrow, or the following day."

"Well we can do things those days too if you really want, Bones," he kept his tone light, "But tonight we have something else to do."

"And what is that?" her heart was still not into it, but at least she wasn't throwing him out right away.

"_You_, Dr. Temperance Brennan, are going to make me some of your delicious mac-n-cheese and _I_ am going to enjoy it!"

"How in the world does that help me?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Come again?"

She sighed, obviously exasperated with him, "Every year, Booth, you come in here with some new way to cheer me up on this day. The graveside visit- the diner; I've come to expect that you will show up, so your presence is not surprising. What I don't understand is how me making you macaroni and cheese will help me feel better."

"Maybe I'm just craving mac-and- cheese, Bones," laughing inwardly because as she had been chewing him out she had made her way over to the coat rack and now was letting him help her into her jacket, "Besides, we'll do that, then rent a movie or something."

"I only have a VCR."

They walked out of her office.

"Then we'll head out to the movies."

They reached the parking lot.

"I'm not particularly diverted by most cinematic features, which is why I have not put forth any effort to purchase a DVD player."

They were standing, facing each other just behind his SUV.

"Then I'll do a strip show for you, Bones," he was getting a tad frustrated, "That might divert you."

They climbed in the car.

"You know, you have an extremely strong ego when it comes to your physical prowess- isn't pride a deadly sin for Catholics?"

He started the car.

"Oh come on, Bones, you know you liked what you saw last year."

"I refuse to feed your ego any further," she crossed her arms.

They drove in silence to her apartment and he sensed she was slipping back into her melancholy. When they arrived, he was sure of it as she not only waited for him to open her passenger's side door, but also did not protest one bit when he slipped his arm around her shoulders and half-guided her up to her apartment. She fumbled with the keys before finding the right one and unlocking the door for them.

"Mac-n-cheese time now Bones, chop chop!" he announced when they were inside.

"What if I decided to chop chop you instead?" she asked sarcastically, then sighed, falling onto her couch, "Honestly, Booth, I appreciate the ride home but I am not going to be good company tonight."

"Com' on, Bones," he hauled her to her feet, "I'm starving."

For the next half hour he prodded and pushed, comforted and cajoled, until finally he could see the weight lifting off her shoulders as she put her full effort into cooking the dinner for him and chasing him away from the food. By the time dinner was over, she was laughing at his antics; the melancholy completely gone.

"Hey, Booth," she said as he put on his jacket and retrieved his keys.

"Yeah, Bones?"

"Thank you," her voice was soft, but not sad, and she smiled as she spoke.

They shared a look that let him know it was okay for him to leave for the night.

"Anytime, Bones," he told her, "Anytime."


	5. Dark

Dark

It was dark in the car. There was no sky above them and no way to know whether it was day our night outside. She supposed they could have turned on her interior light, but that would have meant lost battery power, which could be better served doing other things; like surviving.

Questions flooded her mind as she and Hodgins silently worked on the letters that they might be leaving behind. How far down were they that the light didn't shine though? Would their efforts ultimately fail? Had Booth received the text message and had her team been able to interpret it correctly? She knew that Zack was more than capable, but whether or not he would be able to interpret things under pressure was another matter altogether.

A small part of her wondered if Booth had lost hope yet. As much as she knew that he would not abandon the search for them, she wondered what Booth had felt when their allotted time had run out. Was he actively searching for them, or for their bodies?

The thing that she had not mentioned to Hodgins was that it was conceivable that they were far enough up that they could blow themselves free of some of the debris but still not be close enough to the surface to able to make it before the remaining soil smothered them. Looking over at him through the corner of her eye she decided that he knew that too, which was why he was furiously scribbling away.

She turned to her own paper, finding it bitterly ironic to be leaving her last thoughts on a piece of paper torn from her own novel. Putting her pen to paper, she began to write slowly, her pace picking up the further along she got.

She wrote to Russ first, entreating him to continue the search for their father and assuring him that everything from the past was forgiven and that she enjoyed having him back in her life. She loved him, she wrote, and he would forever be the "Marco" to her "Polo".

Cam was next and she thanked her for the focus and strong work ethic that the other woman had brought to the Jeffersonian and she asked the pathologist to comfort Booth in her absence.

Zack, she encouraged, assuring him that he would one day finish his doctorates and go on to surpass her as a forensic anthropologist. She knew Zack would require no last sentiment from her, so she left none.

The paragraph she wrote for Angela, on the other hand, was laden with as much feeling and emotion as she could produce. She thanked Angela for her friendship and told her how Hodgins had spent a fortune on perfume for her that they had used in an attempt to stay alive. She doubted that she was being truly sentimental, but she knew that Angela would recognize the intent and be content.

She chewed on her pen.

"Writing to Booth?" Hodgins interrupted her train of thought.

She nodded mutely.

"Tell him that you had faith in him," he suggested.

She shook her head, "That would make him feel guilty; even more guilty than I know he will already feel if he reads this."

"How do you feel about him?"

She frowned deeply. Her relationship with Booth- unlike the others she knew- could not be neatly summed up in one word. Russ was her brother, Cam her boss, Zack her protégé, Angela her girlfriend, and Hodgins was her colleague. To label Booth as merely her partner did not do him enough justice, though exactly what he was to her she could not pin down.

"That complicated, huh?" Hodgins lifted a weary eyebrow.

She nodded mutely again, then put pen to paper, forcing herself to write.

_Booth. My relationship with you is something that can be neither categorically nor anthropologically defined, however, I am grateful that we had the opportunity to work together and get to know one another. Thank you for always standing by me no matter what, and for your friendship and support. I know that my death will grieve you but I ask you not to do anything rash when you track down the killer. You have been a good partner and an even better friend. Your Forensic Anthropologist and Friend, Bones._

Note complete, she folded it up and shoved it in her back pocket. Minutes later, she and Jack said their final goodbyes to one another. She took one last breath, closed her eyes, and set of the explosive.

There was a horrible ringing in her ears, which she interpreted as a good thing as she was alive enough to hear it. She opened her eyes and to her horror saw that they were indeed not close enough to fully reach the surface. Loose soil fell into her eyes and face, and she kept her mouth closed as she searched for any shred of light in the darkness.

After what seemed like an eternity, she did! A pinprick of light shone through, enough to make her adrenaline start flowing as she stood up on what remained of her car, frantically clawing her way out of the darkness and toward the light.

She had almost reached the light when it was suddenly blotted out. Impossibly, a hand reached down and grabbed her wrist, and she knew without seeing his face that Booth had found her. Seconds later, she was in his arms, on top of the soil- the harsh sun blinding her as her lungs sucked in the fresh oxygen. She moved over so that she was not blocking the hole that he had dug and watched with a mixture of pride and fear as her entire team worked to free Jack, sagging with relief when she saw his chest heave.

An emergency crew arrived almost immediately, whisking her away from Booth and off to the hospital. He called out that he would be right behind her and she smiled wearily, knowing that he would keep his word.

Hours later, she awoke to find Booth sleeping in a chair beside her. She shifted to better position herself and his eyes flew open, all senses on alert.

"I'm alright, Booth," she rasped, "How's Jack?"

"Good enough to steal crutches and sneak out of here," Booth informed her, "Angela figures he went back to the lab so she left to check on him. She bounced back and forth between the two of you, though."

Brennan nodded, sitting up and leaning her head up against the wall, "She's a good friend."

"Yeah," Booth agreed, "You okay, Bones?"

"I'm alive," she said plainly, yawning widely as fatigue washed over her again, "Thank you, Booth."

He seemed to understand what she was saying without her needing to voice anything further. One look at his eyes told her that trying to persuade him to leave would be pointless tonight. He reached across her body, turning off the room's light.

She yawned again and slipped under the covers, allowing him to tuck the covers in around her. This time, when her eyes closed and the darkness surrounded her, she didn't feel any panic or fear: Booth was beside her and she felt utterly safe in his presence as she drifted off to sleep.


	6. Seeking Solace

Seeking Solace

In a large cemetery, a solitary figure stood beside a headstone and cried. He and the woman buried there were not from the area, nor was the name on the headstone her true name- years ago they had adopted pseudonyms to in an effort to protect themselves and their children. In the end, though, it hadn't mattered, and he'd lost her anyway.

Their daughter lived in the city and it was she who had identified and buried her mother under the only name she had ever known.

"Oh Ruthie," Max Keenan moaned softly, "What have we done?"

Against his better judgment, he and Ruth had left Russ and Temperance in an attempt to protect them from the men who had put a hit on them. Ruthie had assured him that Russ would care for his little sister and he had wanted to believe her. Years afterward, and far too late to make things right, Max had discovered that his son had left too, leaving young Tempe to be tossed around in the foster care system. He wished anew that he had stayed- or taken her with them.

The danger was still out there, though, and he was extremely reluctant to break the cover that had protected him thus far. And so he had refrained from being a part of his children's lives. He had sighed deeply every time that Russ ran into trouble with the law, and had beamed with pride as his daughter emerged as a leading scientist in her field.

Today, though, he had come to be with his wife and as he sat and talked, telling her of the children and how they had grown, he found solace, and a sense of peace despite the growing storm that he knew would soon break.

His head whipped up, senses on alert as he heard voices approaching him. He set the tiny silver dolphin down by the headstone and moved quickly out of sight, though not so far away that he could not see who was coming.

He smiled at the sight of his daughter and her FBI partner. According to Max's sources, Special Agent Seeley Booth was as All-American as they came, and had even garnered a grudging respect in the criminal world for the fair way he handled his suspects. Max also heard tell that the other man was extremely protective when it came to his beautiful partner and last year had threatened a gang leader who had taken a hit out on her.

Taking one last look at them, Max Keenan strode away, his hands in his pockets, confident that until the day he could properly protect his daughter again, Booth would do just fine.


	7. Drive

Drive

She stared at the bones in front of her, going over them first with her eyes, then again with the computer's magnifying lens to make sure that no minute detail went unnoticed. Though she would never admit it to her more esoteric colleagues she had enjoyed being out in the field with Agent Booth- despite his crass comments and even crasser nicknames. It had given her a much broader context to draw from than the one she received working solely from the lab.

It was also very invigorating to think that the work she did here today could possibly help bring this girl's killer to justice in a short amount of time. The digs such as she had just returned from often helped with identification, but those responsible were hardly ever brought to justice and the opportunity to see justice served appealed to her.

And so as she went over the bones yet again she made up her mind. The next time the opportunity presented itself, she would state her conditions for working with Agent Booth: full participation in this and any other cases that he brought to the Jeffersonian including field work. He didn't need to know that Dr. Goodman would continue forcing them to work together whether he acceded to her demands or not, and she didn't particularly care what means she would have to employ to get her way- she could think of several right now that she was reasonably sure would work. Chuckling silently to herself she thought of the tactic Angela had used at the airport to get what she had wanted- Brennan certainly would not be employing _that_ method, but whatever she chose she knew it would have to be something drastic.

It was time to show Special Agent Seeley Booth that she was just as capable at solving crimes as he was- time to show him that scientists possessed just as much drive as law enforcement officers and that sometimes the scientists saw what the officers could not.


	8. Insanity

Insanity

You begin as a graduate student. Your professor and mentor is one of the top persons in the field. You respect her as she constantly presses you to excel at your highest level possible. Then, after years of hard work, you finish your doctorate and become a forensic anthropologist, working for one of the most prestigious laboratories in the world. Your achievements become known at the highest levels of government and you are called upon to serve your country.

You leave behind the comfortable life that you have and enter an arena so foreign that you never quite fit in. The powers that be agree with you and send you back to your other life, chastising you for who you are, but not recognizing that you are no longer the person you were when you left. You have seen things- atrocities that should not be true but are- and it changes how you perceive the world around you. For years you have shrugged off Hodgin's conspiracy theories but now you begin to wonder if they are not true after all.

You return to your previous occupation, only to find that you fit in once again- but only to a certain extent. As you watch certain cases come and go, the seed of uncertainty is watered and you wonder, yet again, if you should be doing more to halt the evil that you see layed out on the examination table in front of you every day.

And so when the man approaches you and gives his rationale for the deeds that must be done you agree. Information is exchanged. A man dies. A lab explodes. A skeleton is stolen. And you are hospitalized for sacrificing your hands for your closest friend's life.

Now you are here, in an institution with drab, white walls that match all of your clothing save the gloves that cover your hands. Your companions range from those who rock back and forth ceaselessly, to those who claim they have recently dialoged with the long-dead singer, Elvis. Contact with the outside world is limited to visiting weekends and your twice weekly meetings with Dr. Sweets. Some days you wish you could change the decisions that led you to this place, but you cannot.

And so you accept life as you have fabricated it to be.

You are Dr. Zachary Uriah Addy: King of the Looney Bin.


	9. Flowers

Flowers

Reminiscing was not in Dr. Temperance Brennan's nature. She believed firmly that the past should remain exactly that: the past. Regrets were useless and mulling over things that had occurred in the past did not do one any good. There were moments, however, when nostalgia crept in and she could not help but be transported back to her childhood.

_Temperance Brennan bounded through the door of her home and called for her mother. She had been excited all day, because today, she was going to help her mother plants bulbs in the garden._

_"Now, Tempe," her mother said patiently, "You take this trowel and I'll take this one and we'll each dig a hole for our bulbs."_

_Nodding eagerly, the little girl dug into the hard, October soil and began making a hold with the trowel. It took her five very long minutes to dig a six-inch hole that would be deep enough for the bulb and she beamed with pride up at her mother when she was through._

_"Good job," her mother praised her, "Now, place the bulb this way into the soil and cover it back up."_

_Imitating her mother, six year old Tempe placed the bulb into the soil and filled in the hole, patting down the dirt just as she saw her mother doing. Side by side the two Brennan women worked through the afternoon until they had planted two rows of bulbs._

_"Will the flowers come up tomorrow?" she asked eagerly at dinner that night._

_"And they say you're a genius," her older brother Russ rolled his eyes._

_"Russell," her father warned sternly, "You will not talk to your sister that way!"_

_Russ nodded, but stuck his tongue out once Dad had turned his head._

_"The flowers will bloom in the spring," her mother explained patiently, "The bulb has a lot of work to do before it will be ready to grow and bloom."_

_After dinner, Daddy put her on his lap and read her a colorful book from his classroom that explained how plants grow. It also said that the flowers they had planted were some of the first to bloom in the spring, which made her happy. She liked the book and read it over and over again until she had it memorized._

_Autumn soon past, and the long winter crawled by as she waited for spring to come and bring her flowers with it. At times she was alarmed by the large snowfall amounts and the cold temperatures, but her mother assured her that these things helped, not hurt, the growing bulbs. Finally, spring came, and with it warmer weather and lots of rain._

_Every day after school she would check on her flowers. She jumped up and down the day that the first green shoot popped through the ground. Russ rolled his eyes again, but he stopped after Daddy promised to take them all out for ice cream to celebrate._

_Day after day the flowers grew until finally they began to bud. The buds grew larger and larger until Tempe just __knew__that they would be flowers soon._

_"Mommy! Daddy! Look!" she burst into the house one afternoon after school, "There here!"_

_All four Brennans trooped out onto the front porch to admire the flowers. Their bright yellow petals and cups were wide open for everyone to see. Tempe was especially happy to see that her line of flowers wasn't crooked in the least._

_Daddy took a picture of her and Mommy by the garden, the flowers blooming cheerfully in the background. It was that day that daffodils were her absolute favorite flower._

"Hey, Bones," Booth's voice broke her reverie and she shoved the old photograph back in her desk, "Parker here has something for you."

"Here, Dr. Bones," Parker's grin mirrored his father's and pulled something out from behind his back, "I made 'em for you in art class."

He presented her with a bouquet of tissue paper flowers.

"Daffodils," she smiled, "Thank you, Parker."

"I got you some too, Bones," Booth pulled his own bouquet out, "Happy first day of spring!"

"Thank you," she managed, a bit overwhelmed, "I like them both."

"Daddy's are okay," Parker told her, coming around to her side of the desk, "But mine'll last forever."

It was on the tip of her tongue to correct him but she caught Booth's eye and changed her mind, "I will enjoy them very much. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Parker hugged her and she wrapped her arms awkwardly around him and returned the embrace.

"Com' on, bub," Booth waved his arm, "Dr. Bones has work and _we_ have a pizza with our name on it waiting for us."

"Bye, Dr. Bones!" Parker waved.

"Good bye, Parker," she waved back.

She and Booth shared a small smile and the two Booths turned and left.

Opening the drawer again she looked at the picture of herself and her mother. So many years had past and yet the first day of spring always brought her back to this moment. She looked at the flowers that now sat on her desk- paper and real- and for the first time in years smiled just as she had when she was six years old.


	10. Expectations

Expectations

You sit, waiting for the results, not sure if you want them. Two minutes seems like an eternity when there is so much riding on the results. Your goals in life were to graduate from college, become a successful woman, and never have to depend on anyone for anything- though a man to keep you company was never a bad thing. Kids were not something you had planned on- and they were definitely not part of this phase in the plans.

You look up at Seeley. He's just as nervous as you are and keeps pacing the tiny bathroom, running his fingers through his hair. He has goals in life too, but this wouldn't stymie his goals nearly as much as it would yours- plus from what you've learned over the years he's way more into the marriage, family, 2.5 kids, and a white picket fence dream than you are.

The control line pops up clear as day and you sigh with relief. At least the thing works. Dollar General was not the first place one would think to get one of these tests, but the pee-on-a-stick website assured you that they are just as high-quality there as anywhere else, and at the time you really didn't feel like plunking down fifteen bucks for your piece of mind.

Seeley sits down on the edge of the tub momentarily, then is right back up pacing again. He's muttering something about how all of this could've happened and you bite back the way too obvious smart remark. The two have you have been together for a while now and sleeping together for over a year. You both were way too wrapped up in each other last month the night after he closed his big case to bother with protection and it happened.

And then it comes- the second line, bright pink- pregnant. A million thought whir through your mind: What will happen to me? To my goals? To my life?

"Will you marry me?" Seeley blurts out.

You take a long look at him and suddenly you are both caught in one of those huge, ground-shaking, moments in life. He hasn't taken you by surprise- not by a long shot- but you're still not sure of your answer. You can't think of a more passionate, sensitive guy and you know as the gaze continues that you might never meet somebody like him again. He'll be a great dad. At the same time, there are your goals to think about and somehow you know that life would not what you want it to if you stay with him.

"No," you shake your head, speaking barely above a whisper, "I'll keep the baby, and you can stay involved if you'd like, but no."

You regret the words as soon as they are out, but realize that by now it's too late. With one word you have managed to crush him. His shoulders sag, his eyes lose their spark, and he gives you a hollow smile in return.

"I'll always love you, 'Becca," he can't even muster the charm to talk you out of it.

Maybe so, you think, but you can tell that your moment has passed and that you have already started to drift apart.


	11. Stars

Stars

The day after a case closed was always the busiest for Booth and his partner. The sheer volumes of paperwork they were required to submit was overwhelming on a good day, and insurmountable on a bad one. Suicides were the easiest; serial killers the worst. Anytime that Booth had to discharge his weapon, a separate ream of paper was required.

Fortunately this last case had been straightforward- Bones and the squints had had no trouble interpreting the body and within three days he had nailed the perp's hide to the wall. The punk was now rotting in jail and he and Bones were getting all of their ducks in a row for the trial. No date had been set, but they always got everything ready right after it happened, while everything was still fresh in their minds.

Yawning, he pried his eyes from the form his was filling out, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. He was still in Bones' office, though his stack of papers had dwindled considerably from what he had started with. The clock on the wall told him it was eight o'clock, and he was pretty sure he remembered that they'd started around three. His stomach growled, evidence that too much time had passed between meals.

"Hey, Bones," he called, "Time for food!"

Instead of her familiar grunt of acknowledgement, or groan of complaint, silence greeted him, and he noticed for the first time that she was not in the office with him. Standing quickly, he strode out to the walkway and looked down at the lab below. She wasn't on the platform, and she wasn't at any of the other stations that he could see.

Deciding that he didn't feel like playing hide and seek this late at night, he whipped out his cell phone and hit the first speed dial on his list.

"Brennan," she answered, as cool and collected as ever.

His adrenaline slowed and he managed to reply without snapping at her, "Uh, Bones, where are you?"

"Up on the roof," she answered like she thought he should have known.

"Of course," he muttered, striding for the elevator that would take him to her, "Well, it's time for dinner, so why don't you come down now?"

"I'm not hungry," she told him.

"Doesn't matter, Bones," he scolded, falling into the familiar argument with a half-grin on his face, "Everyone's gotta eat and it's eight, so we're way past dinner time."

"Only an hour," she scoffed, "And our last meal was only eight hours ago. Our bodies are capable of sustaining us for much longer periods without food."

Booth thought back to all of the times as a sniper and a POW that he had gone extended periods of time without food. Yeah, he'd survived just fine, but it wasn't something that he'd enjoyed.

"It's freezing up here," he complained, stepping up behind her and closing his phone.

She shrugged, her gaze never shifting toward him.

"What in the world are you doing up here?" he asked.

"I finished my work and needed a respite."

"So you decide to come hang out in the tundra?"

"Booth," she chided, "Washington DC, even during the winter, does not come close to reaching temperatures that would classify it as a tundra-"

His brain registered that she was still talking, but he tuned her out. It was times like this he was seriously tempted either to pick her up and carry her over his shoulder and take her to dinner anyway, or kiss her. He was pretty sure a kiss would silence her.

Of course there was that line, and the fact that he had no desire to be beaten senseless after the kiss was over. The memory of her lips on his, their tongues dancing together ever so briefly just a week earlier still teased him during moments like this. So he steeled his resolve to keep the line firmly in place, focused on the cold to get his body back under control, and turned back to Bones.

"So what are we looking at?" he asked with a grin.

She shook her head, her eyes telling him that she realized all too well that he had just tuned her out, "As I said, I enjoy looking at the night sky and the view is particularly unobstructed from this location."

He lifted his gaze to where she was pointing and was stunned by what he saw. The sky was flawlessly clear- not a cloud in sight- and the moon was only a slight crescent in the sky, making the stars seem more brilliant than ever. Being up so high, Booth thought that if he stretched out his hand, he might just be able to touch them.

"It's beautiful," he spoke softly.

And so they stood- paperwork and dinner forgotten- staring at the mesmerizing stars that twinkled like diamonds on a black velvet background. He listened this time as she taught him everything that her mother had taught her about the constellations and their position in the winter sky.


	12. Abandoned

Abandoned

Jack Hodgins paced the hospital floor, wishing that he still wore that stupid rubber-band bracelet. He needed something to snap and if he didn't get it soon _he_ would be the one snapping. Inside the sealed room just down the hall was his best friend whose career was most likely over because of one dumb accident.

He went over the scene this morning again and found that there was really nothing he'd would have done differently- no reason to think that the polymer was any different. Now Zack was paying the ultimate price and to make matters worse Gormagon had once again pulled the wool over their eyes and the skeleton was gone.

It should have been him, Hodgins, lying in that bed with hands burnt beyond recognition. He should have been doing the experiment, not Zack. He felt guilty for it- even he knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

As if that wasn't enough, people were starting to give him the evil eye. He supposed it wasn't too far-fetched to think he was the apprentice- what with his open paranoia about organized government and conspiracy theories, but _Gormagon's apprentice_? Seriously? It hurt to think that his colleagues didn't trust him.

"Booth and Bren are on their way," Angela came up to him, a cup of hospital-grade sludge in her hand, "Sounds like they know who the apprentice is."

"Good," he breathed, forcing the coffee down, "That'll be good."

"Yeah," she nodded.

He looked at her for a long moment, "You never thought it was me, did you?"

"Nah," she grinned widely, "You're too paranoid."

"Honestly," he said, not in the mood for attempts at levity.

"Honestly, Jack," she laid a hand on his arm, "No, I never thought that. You're not that type of person."

"I wonder what that type is," he mused.

"Guess we'll find out soon enough," she shrugged, "Let's head in and see our boy."

Soon enough came fifteen minutes later and Jack was ready to snap again. He stood numb and in shock at what was taking place on the other side of the window into Zack's room- watched his best friend admit to a heinous crime. The "King of the Lab" was no more.

He felt suddenly alone, suddenly abandoned, and the pain in his heart was so deep he knew that nothing would ever be the same in the lab again.


	13. Dying

Dying

The woman knew she was dying, knew there was nothing she could do to stave it off, and knew that the man she loved would be lovely for the rest of his life. Death- she used to tell him- was one of life's little inevitabilities. Now she was not so glib, not that she still didn't believe that, but she didn't want to upset him any further.

She'd never pictured herself as the marrying type. That was for normal people who did normal things and led normal lives. But he'd worked on her, year after year as they began working together, until one day she told him she'd go on a date just to shut him up. That had been the beginning of the end of her single life, but she never regretted a minute of it.

She thought of her children and smiled when she remembered that she hadn't wanted them at first either. The couple's life was rife with danger, she had argued, not to mention they were the biggest pair of workaholics that she knew of. People in their line of work, with their specialized skills should not have children.

He'd won her over with his affable charm of course; he always did. A year after he'd tentatively brought up the subject, they were in the hospital, looking at their son for the first time. He was a good baby and she'd fallen in love at first sight, so they waited a few years and had another one. It was a daughter this time and she could tell that her husband was pleased.

Babies grow into children on their way to becoming adults, and the woman smiled, recalling each precious detail of their childhood. It was a bittersweet smile, though, because she had been right- as she always was- and the lifestyle that she and Max had led forced them to leave before their children were grown. She convinced herself and Max that Russ was man enough to shoulder the responsibility of raising his little sister, and besides they truly had no choice.

The time that separated them seemed like an eternity, so much so that she'd made a video for Tempe to help close the gap. She prayed that her daughter would not hold Max accountable for decisions that she had made for them and that one day father and daughter could be as close as they'd once been.

"Max," she croaked from the bed, her throat dry.

He was there in an instant.

"I love you," she told him, "And I'm sorry."

Their eyes locked and he knew what she was sorry for, though he kept shaking his head as if to deny it.

"We can still fight this thing, Ruthie," he told her, "Don't give up now."

"My head," she grimaced, "It hurts all the time, Max, it's not going away."

"We'll find a doctor," he was grasping at straws, "Someone who can help you."

"No, Max-love," she shook her head a fraction of an inch, "It's time, and I'm sorry."

"Love means never having to say you're sorry," Max told her.

"Bull," she smiled weakly, "We never would've survived if it did."

He nodded, still wallowing in his grief.

"So much for your rational mind," she teased, closing her eyes as another migraine seized her.

"I love you," he grinned ruefully, "It won't be the same without you."

"You'll survive," she told him, knowing that he would.

He sat by her bed as her pain increased and the time grew closer.

"Max," she wet her mouth for one final request, "Take care of the children. Tell them I loved them; we loved them. Help them understand when it's safe for you to."

"I will," he promised, and she could see the steely determination in his eyes set in, "I will."

She opened her mouth again to say goodbye but couldn't. The pain seized her one last time and she left.


	14. Two Roads

Two Roads

"Turn right," Brennan pointed as they pulled up to a fork in the road.

She was on her way to speak at an amateur author's retreat for the weekend and Booth had insisted on accompanying her. Currently, they were on a back road, snow falling steadily around them, making the unpaved road slick, even in the SUV.

"The GPS is telling me left," he said, pointing at the small screen mounted on the dash between them.

"I was here just last year," she argued, "Your computer is wrong."

"Look, Bones," Booth sighed, irritated with the foul weather, "I am not going to risk getting lost just because you think you know which way to go."

"I don't _think_ I know, Booth, I _know_ that I know," she shot back, "I have been here before- you have not."

"That's what the GPS is for, Bones," he patted the device and began following its directions.

"This isn't right," she grumbled.

"No," Booth countered, "It's left, but it's the right way."

"It's the long way," she told him, "I believe that this road does eventually reach the lodge, however it's an extremely circuitous route."

"Better a circus route than one that could get us lost."

They continued down the road, a stony silence filling the air. Suddenly, the vehicle's front wheels sunk into a pothole, bringing the car to a lurching halt.

Booth swore.

"You know," Brennan said acidly, "This would not have happened had we turned right."

"Look, Bones," he snapped, "You wanna do something helpful? Get out and push. Otherwise, just sit there like a good little forensic anthropologist and keep your trap shut."

"Just because I have an opinion that differs from yours, it does not make me wrong," she spat back, "In fact, this whole incident would never have happened had you followed my directions in the first place, or better yet if you had not insisted on coming along at all! And contrary to your alpha-male opinion, Seeley Booth, I am more than capable of driving myself to and from my business obligations _without_ your assistance."

"Well excuse me, _Temperance_," red crept up his neck and he raised his voice, "I just thought that _someone_ should keep an eye on you since you seem to attract danger wherever you go!"

"I have security people for that," she crossed her arms over her chest and turned to face the window.

"And a whole freaking lot they did for your publicist and the crazy whack job who had her killed! And exactly how many times has Oliver slipped past them?"

"Only a few," she turned to face him again, "And there are now people who monitor the Brennanites for any such illegal alliances. And that incident- might I remind you- was two years ago and nothing of the sort has happened since."

"What happens if one of these times Oliver decides to grab you and make some of his twisted little fantasies come true? Or if not him then maybe some of the others. Most of the fans are harmless but you do have some crazies out there. And this," he pointed to the woods that surrounded them, "Is the perfect place for them to try something."

"I am more than capable of defending myself," she argued, "And if you would simply grant me a gun permit, I would be even more capable."

"And right there is why you'll never get one," he sighed.

"I don't have to sit here and take this," she said coolly, "If you have need of me, I will be on my way to the lodge."

She glared one last time at him, daring him to physically restrain her, grabbed her hat and gloves, and got out, slamming the door behind her. One look at the front end of the SUV told her that it was effectively stuck and with the snow laying quickly, it would take some effort to free it.

Turning away from the SUV, and her stubborn partner who was still inside it, she began walking in the direction that they had come from. Trudging through the snow, her thin, heeled boots demonstrating how inefficient they were in the outdoors, she slowly made her way back to the fork in the road, not looking or particularly caring if Booth had followed her.

Fifteen minutes later, she was shivering, her teeth chattering and her face numb. The sun had begun setting as she and Booth had sat arguing in his car and now was almost completely down. With the darkness had come a severe drop in temperature. Between the cold and the darkness, her body was being drained of its energy as she walked along. Finally, she reached the fork in the road.

Spotting a tree stump, she decided to sit and warm up before continuing her trek. As she sat, she began taking note of all of the odd noises around her. An animal was howling, its voice carried along on the cold wind while leaves rustled and crunched around her. She thought she could see the lights of the lodge dimly through the bare trees, but it seemed far away compared to where she sat, and her feet were beginning to ache from the cold, as well as the flimsy structure of her boots.

Suddenly, she heard a noise growing closer and closer to her position. Her senses heightened from the environment, as well as Booth insistence that there were plenty of people willing to do her harm should she only show herself vulnerable, she jumped off of the stump, and began running as fast as she could down the road toward the lodge. Her heel caught on a loose stone, sending her sprawling on the ground. The noise was growing closer and she quickly crawled off of the road, hiding herself in the trees.

The noise stopped and a car door slammed, causing her heart rate to quicken exponentially.

"Bones!" she heard a familiar voice call out in the darkness, "Bones, where are you?"

"Booth!" she stumbled out of the snowy woods and onto the road.

"Heya, Bones," Booth said cheerfully as if nothing had happened between them, "Fancy meeting you out here."

"It's a small world," she replied drily, taking hold of the arm that he offered as they walked back to the SUV.

He brushed off the snow that had accumulated on her jacket during her walk, and the dirt from her fall, and helped her in. The warmth felt so good compared to the cold she'd just been in and she laid her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

"Bones," she jumped at his touch on her arm, her eyes flying open immediately, "I'm sorry."

She could see the regret etched in his features, and offered a soft smile to let him know she wasn't angry any longer.

"Next time I'll listen to you, okay?" he smiled back, "Or better yet, just let you drive yourself."

"Next time I'll drive," she agreed.

He nodded, but dropped his head, slightly crestfallen so she added quickly, "I _suppose_ you could come along for security purposes. After all, you never know what will happen."

"Nope," he shook his head, "You never do."

"And I know how much you enjoy feeling Oliver up," she smiled.

He threw his head back and laughed as he started off again for the lodge, "Roughing him up, Bones," he corrected, "Feeling up is what you do to special people- and I myself prefer girls."

She blushed, then smiled wickedly, "You always tell me that I'm special, Booth…"

"Yes…" he dragged the word out, a blush creeping up his own neck.

"And I am a female," she pointed out, enjoy torturing him for a change.

"That you are, Temperance," he said warily.

She shrugged and grinned widely at him, "I just thought I'd point that out to you."

"Good to know," he said quickly, "Oh look, Bones, we're here."

Booth hopped out of the car as quickly as he could and began retrieving their bags from the trunk. Smiling to herself, she decided that having him along wasn't such a bad thing after all. She waited for him to finish and together they walked into the welcoming warmth of the lodge.


	15. Break Away

Break Away

Dr. Daniel Goodman surveyed his now-barren office and contemplated whether or not he was making the correct decision. He was not leaving, _per se_, but his sabbatical was open-ended and something inside of him told him he would not be returning any time soon, at least not to his current capacity.

Things were changing at the medico-legal lab. The FBI had finally found an agent sturdy enough to weather Dr. Brennan's precise investigative style and they were turning to the Jeffersonian more and more often. Goodman had approved of the shift, and had watched like a proud father as his people adapted to the change.

Before Agent Booth, they had simply been co-workers- a group of four people who happened to work together, but little beyond that. Now, however, they were becoming friends, to the point that he did not envy whoever was in charge when Zack Addy finally earned his doctorate. He doubted that the "Squint Squad" as Booth had so elegantly termed them, would be willing to see the young man depart from the group.

Goodman liked Booth, admired him even. The man may have fallen for Dr. Brennan's blackmail scheme in the beginning, but he did not accede to her every whim, nor was he afraid to put her gently in her place when she erred. So many of the agents that had worked with the Jeffersonian before had been so put off by Dr. Brennan's scientific approach that they had given up working with her almost immediately. Booth, on the other hand, didn't shy away from her no matter how brusquely she behaved, but rather sought to get to know her as a person. He also pushed her to examine possibilities beyond her scientific reasoning. He was not always successful, but he never gave up.

And so as the changes came, Goodman decided it was time for him to move on. This team needed someone who was less empirical than he; someone who could teach them to intuit when necessary. Booth knew what he wanted, but was often impatient when it came to waiting on results. The new leader would need to bridge the gap between Booth and the Jeffersonian team, and Goodman knew he wasn't the man for that job.

"Slipping out without saying goodbye?" Dr. Hodgins intruded on Goodman's reverie, a large smile on his face.

"If only," Goodman replied drily, "You will explain the matter to Dr. Brennan when she returns?"

"I'll get Ange or Booth to, but yeah," the entomologist replied, "We'll talk to her."

"Good."

"I still say she's gonna be peeved."

"That," Goodman grinned wryly as the two men exited the empty office, "I do not doubt, however, I do not believe she would understand why I did not endorse her as my successor."

"Not sure if I get it either, but whatever," Dr. Hodgins shrugged, "Take care of yourself, okay old man?"

Goodman let loose a hearty laugh and the two men exchanged a handshake before Hodgins turned back to the lab and Goodman to the exit. A small tear pooled in the corner of the archaeologist's eye and he brushed it aside quickly.

Yes, he decided, it was time to leave, but that didn't mean he would not miss what he was leaving behind.


	16. Family

Family

It wasn't that she hated her family- she didn't. They were just, well, complicated, and the last thing in the world she felt like doing was spending time with them. She fingered the necklace that had been her mother's. There had been no question when she'd seen it in the drawer the day after her mother died that it was hers.

Growing up in the Bronx had been no picnic. There was always someone picking on you, or trying to shove the latest drug off on you, though her favorites were the teachers who were there because the city paid them good money to teach in the bad districts. She'd lost count after the tenth one told her she'd be a single momma living off welfare for the rest of her life. She had to hand it to them though- they'd managed to make her PO'ed enough to fight her way out.

For a while she and Felicia had been tight- they had to be to survive. But when Cam had gotten out and her sister had stayed back, they drifted apart. Even now that they lived closer together they really didn't get along. Sure, they went to lunch now and then, and they always had each other's backs if someone attacked them, but other than that their relationship was one long catfight. It didn't help that Felicia was forever trying to one-up her and get in their father's good graces.

Which meant that this year, for their father's sixtieth birthday, Cam _had_ to do something to make the old man proud. Problem being, these days he was on a marriage kick, and the older he got the more he want grandchildren yesterday. Kids were not a part of her life plan, nor was marriage really- two things that Felicia was on the prowl for.

She pondered the quandary as the day progressed and came to the conclusion that, while there weren't any kids laying around for her to borrow, there was a perfectly good, available guy that she just might be able to talk into being her date for the party. Of course, she knew he wasn't really available and that he hadn't been even when they'd hooked up when she started at the Jeffersonian, but he'd be willing if she could present her case well enough. And given their long history she was pretty sure she could pull it off.

Besides, she thought as the man in question swaggered his way through the lab, her father loved Booth and he was hot enough to make Felicia jealous, so what harm could it do, really?


	17. Deep in Thought

Deep in Thought

On a Saturday morning she sat at their table in the diner alone, reviewing in her mind everything that had happened over the last several days. They had saved the family, solved the murder, and celebrated a birthday all in a surprisingly short amount of time. All of that _should_ have meant that things were good between them- especially since it was _his _birthday that they had celebrated. And while experience had taught her that people generally grew more despondent the older they became, he was not one she would have thought would fit into that category.

Of course thinking was part of what had caused the rift between them in the first place. Her father had a saying that when you _assume_… well, the saying was actually a pun on the word assume, but she had to admit that it was appropriate from time to time. If only she hadn't assumed that Jared was speaking the truth, perhaps things would have turned out differently.

It seemed logical to her at the time: Jared was a close family member who had insights to Booth's childhood and temperament that she did not. What he said did not seem so farfetched that she dismissed it out of hand as she would had anyone else proposed the idea, and if she was being thoroughly honest with herself she would have to admit that Jared's kiss had impacted her as well- not that it was the best kiss that she had ever taken part in, but it did serve as evidence that _her_ Booth was not willing to take risks.

So she had fallen for it- for him- for the baubles and the flashy smile and that insatiable Booth charm that both brothers apparently possessed. The thing of it was that Jared used it for his own selfish means, whereas Seeley used it in a teasing fashion, or to cheer her up. It wasn't until Booth had yelled at her in the observation room that she had realized her error- and been too stunned to reply. The speech that she had given at Booth's birthday dinner was her way of atoning for that, and he seemed to understand that, and accept her unspoken apology.

His revelation in the bus shelter had simply confirmed what Sweets and Cam had warned her of earlier, yet it felt the weight of it as if she were hearing for the first time when he actually spoke the words aloud. They had eaten their cake in silence, gone back inside with the others for a time, and then gone their separate ways. She hadn't talked to him since then and for the first time since the beginning of their partnership she was unsure exactly what she would say to him the next time they met.

"That must be some coffee," a voice broke through her reverie.

Her head shot up and the first thing to greet her was a shirt that boasted, "World's Greatest Dad" in large, neon lettering. She shrugged at the man, still not sure what to say and went back to her coffee.

Of course he didn't go away and leave her to her thoughts, but instead ordered his own coffee and a slice of pie to go with it. For a while they simply sat and said nothing.

"What's on your mind, Bones?" he finally asked softly.

"I don't know what to say to you," she decided on blunt honesty since she seemed to do best with that, "Most people, I suppose, would be able to come up with the right sentiment or platitude that would best suit the situation but I am not most people," she looked him in the eyes, "I feel as if I have betrayed you in a way that one apology cannot cover, and if that weren't enough I proceeded to reprimanded you, and yet you chose to reveal yourself further to me and I don't know what to do with that information. Angela would know if you told me because you were seeking help or simply a cathartic release but I-"

His forefinger pressed against her lips, bringing her rambling to a halt and for once she was thankful for his interference. Without saying anything, he stood, laid some money on the counter, and nodded his head, inviting her to follow him. They left the diner and their half-finished coffee behind and walked to a nearby park. He sat down on the first empty bench they came to and patted the seat for her to join him, which she did.

"You did everything right last night, Bones," he smiled sadly at her, "You let me know that you weren't falling for Jared's lines anymore, then you set me straight on how to stand up to him myself, and when that went south you came out with cake and offered me time and space if I wanted it.

"I didn't want you to spout some platitude or anything like that after I dropped my little bombshell on you. In fact, I can't think of anything that I would have rather done than sit there and just be with you in that moment," she started to protest but he held up his hand, "Bones one of the best things about you is that you just let silence be silence and you don't force words when they wouldn't mean anything anyway."

"Jared kissed me," she blurted out, not sure why she was telling him.

He raised an eyebrow at her and she could have sworn that a pang of jealousy crossed his face momentarily.

"Then he told me all of those lies about you," she explained, "I assaulted him later for it."

"You kissed him back for revenge?" he asked, confused.

"No," she shook her head vehemently, "I grew angry with him after I realized the truth and shoved him off of his barstool."

"Seriously?" she could see he was restraining his laughter.

She nodded and they shared a smile and sat in companionable silence for several minutes.

"I am sorry about your father," she said softly.

"And I'm sorry about your arm," he gestured at her sling.

"You weren't responsible for my injury," she assured him.

"Any you weren't for my dad," he smiled, "Neither was I and neither was Jared."

"You aren't responsible for Jared's actions either," she repeated her advice from the night before gently, "Nor can you shoulder his consequences."

"Yeah," he blew out a long breath, "I know that here," he pointed to his cerebral cortex, "It's here that I've still got to convince," he pointed to his sternum, though she knew he was referring to his heart.

"Sometimes," she said, a smile slowly dawning on her face, "You have to put your mind in neutral and put your heart into overdrive."

"Hmm," he said, a familiar smirk erupting, "That's deep, Bones."

She shrugged, "A wise friend once suggested it to me at a time of emotional crisis and although I still don't understand its implications thoroughly it seems fitting to apply it to your current situation as well."

"Musta been a pretty good friend," he smiled.

"A very close friend," she nodded, "And an excellent partner."

For a moment their gaze met and held, growing more and more intense as the seconds passed. She wondered if he would kiss her as Jared had done and her mind strayed back to their mistletoe encounter nearly a year ago.

"So," he interrupted her thoughts, standing up and hauling her to her feet as well, "I was thinking that we're the center, right?" she nodded and he went on, "And the center must hold, right?" again she nodded, "So I think that the best way to re-center ourselves after all of this week's craziness would be for you to whip up some of your yummy mac-'n'-cheese!"

"And share it with you as well, I presume?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yup."

"Fine," she rolled her eyes, knowing that it would be impossible to refuse, "But you are doing the dishes afterwards."


	18. Childhood

Childhood

Amy Hollister sat in her living room, listening to her daughter gasp for breath in the other room, then finally settle into a loud wheeze. It was a sound that would have frightened most parents, but one that had become commonplace to her. She sighed heavily, thinking that a girl's childhood should be filled with tea parties, and dolls, and dreams about princes who sweep you off your feet. Instead, Hayley's has been marked with doctors, and hospitals, and debates as the whether or not she will survive into her thirties.

Amy could tell that her daughter's health was getting worse by the day but her hands were tied. She couldn't afford to keep taking off work without them firing her- or demoting her to part-time, which would be just as bad. The health insurance she had through work was crappy, but it covered more than the state's children's plan- especially given Hayley's condition.

Finally, she decided, it was time to find Russ. She wasn't sure where to start looking, so she decided to look up his sister instead. For a relatively famous person, she was surprised at how easy it was to track Doctor Temperance Brennan down, and she set out for DC.

What she received was not what she had expected. Dr. Brennan made no promises when it came to Amy's search for Russ, but instead she gave the haggard mother the name of one of the top CF doctors in the country, no strings attached. Not only that, but the man was a friend of Dr. Brennan's and when Amy had called him, he had welcomed them as clients and insisted that they owed him nothing.

The treatments had been different than what Hayley was used to, but she was a strong girl and steadily began to improve. Russ came, bringing the first real smile to Hayley's face since she'd begun to relapse. He hadn't been able to stay long, and it was very likely that he'd have to face jail time for breaking his parole, but it had been enough, and Amy knew that she could get through whatever came next.

Looking through the window to Hayley's room, a cup of hospital sludge in hand, Amy smiled as she watched Dr. Brennan reading to her little girl. There were still some bumps ahead, but maybe- just maybe- Hayley could have a happy childhood after all.


	19. Rejection

Rejection

In a bar somewhere in the Caribbean, a man sits brushing floppy locks of hair out of his eyes and contemplates how life has brought him thus far. He was in love, and he thought, loved in return- or at least his company was enjoyed- but it was not to be. In tragic romance tales a lover can be scorned by either death or rejection. His tale falls into the latter category, and he takes another pull of his drink, enjoying how the alcohol burns as it goes down as he recalls what went wrong.

There had been no instant connection, nor a slow build-up that had brought them together. She was arguably one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, but after okaying the move with the one person he thought might have a problem with the relationship he had moved forward boldly, and to his disbelief she had said yes.

Their dates had been both formal and informal and after some miscommunication they had finally done the deed. It had been fun to tease her in bed, and she had proven to be much more spontaneous than one would think from her mannerisms. They'd shared their aspirations for the future and he had gotten a glimpse of who she was underneath the veneer she showed to the world.

So he went out on the limb and purchased a boat. He'd gone to her and practically begged her to go with him- a one year trip and then she could return. He genuinely felt that she needed to break free for a while and see the world and he wanted to be there when that happened- when she finally discovered the richness that comes from living life unfettered.

His only error was in believing that somewhere deep inside she was a dreamer and a drifter like him. She was not. And though he watched her agonize over the decision, he knew in his heart that she wouldn't be coming- that she would ultimately discard not only his offer of freedom and exploration, but their relationship as well.

He had kept his end of the bargain and sailed away in the boat he'd named after her, forced to watch as she turned away from him one last time. In bitter irony he had watched his friend, her partner, put his arm around her shoulder and walk away.

He should have seen that coming, he thinks sullenly from his perch on the barstool, he should have known better. As he comes to the end of his musings, the alcohol now making his thoughts come hard and fast, he wonders about his choices.

If he knew that she would push him away, if he knew that she would never follow him as much as he wanted her to because she had all she needed right where she was, and if he still asked anyway, then who really had rejected whom?


	20. Fairy Tale

Fairy Tale

"Once upon a time" and "happily ever after"- that is how fairy tales begin and end.

They started out right, at least. Man and woman meet in college, flirt for a semester, date the rest of the way through, and marry halfway through senior year because impatience is the hallmark of young love. After a few years of enjoying married life, they embark upon the ultimate "American dream"- parenthood. They buy all of the right books, and do all of the things that expectant parents are supposed to do the first time around.

Then their daughter is born- the perfect mix of him and her- and life could not be better. He feels slightly overwhelmed at all of the responsibilities that are bound up in this seven-pound human being, but he's up to the challenge. He jokes about walking softly and carrying a big stick once the boys start coming around, but secretly he is already imagining what she will look like in her wedding gown.

Every time he is sent out on a dangerous assignment, he prays he will make it back safely for his girls and when an administrative position finally comes up he pounces on the opportunity to be out of harm's way. His first day on the job he grins, knowing that now he will be there to watch his little girl grow up, graduate from high school, and marry into her own "happily ever after."

It is not to be.

Which is why he is angry. Standing at his daughter's bedside he listens to two of his best agents tell him that his daughter's impending death might not be a mistake- that someone may have deliberately put Amy, and many others like her in mortal danger. He gives them permission to do whatever is necessary to put the SOB's away for life. They do, but it is too late for Amy, and he is still forced to stand by her bedside, powerless to help her live.

He stands in a church, consoling her mother until it is time. This is not the aisle that he pictured taking her down, surrounded by pallbearers instead of bridesmaids, but it is the path that he must walk, so he holds his head high and does his duty as a father the best he knows how.

Life is supposed to be a certain way- to go through a specific series of events until one is old and gray with a gaggle of grandkids watching in the wings. You bury your grandparents, you bury your parents, you may even bury your spouse. But no one should have to bury their own child- no one. There will be no graduation, no boys, no weddings, no "happily ever after" for the Cullen family- only wistful, fleeting memories of "once upon a time."


	21. Hero

Hero

"Hey, Bones," Parker's dad said as they walked into Dr. Bones' office, "Got a favor to ask."

She looked up at them, but stayed quiet like she was waiting for Dad to ask his question.

"Cullen just called and I've got a meeting over at the Hoover that's gonna last a little bit," Dad explained, "Parker's got science club with your dad in an hour and I was wondering if he could hang out in here until then?"

"I see no problem with that," she answered in her funny way, "Though I'm not sure I have sufficient means here to entertain a child."

"'Sok," Parker was glad Dad understood what Dr. Bones had just said because he sure didn't, "He's got homework to keep him busy."

Dr. Bones nodded, so Parker headed over to the couch and pulled out his homework folder. Dad waved goodbye and promised to be back as soon as he could. Parker dug around in his backpack for a pencil and found one at the bottom. He looked up and noticed that Dr. Bones was busy at her desk, so he opened his folder and got to work.

The first two subjects, math and spelling, were easy. Math was a sheet about money and counting out change. A lot of the kids in Parker's class had complained about it being hard, but Parker had been helping his dad count out change at the diner for years so he didn't think it was too bad.

Next was spelling. Parker was an okay speller. Dad said he and Dr. Bones had to write out reports for their job and they had to know how to spell really good, so Parker always tried his best. All he had to do was write his spelling words two times each, and that took him no time at all.

He groaned when he saw what his last homework paper was.

"Are you alright, Parker?" Dr. Bones wanted to know.

"Yeah," he answered, "I guess."

"Do you require any assistance?" she asked.

"Does that mean help?" he wondered.

"Yes," she smiled kindly, "Would you like me to help you with something?"

"It's this," he pulled his paper out of the folder and walked up to her desk, "We have to write about our favorite hero."

"Do you have anyone in mind?"

"I dunno," he shrugged, "Ms. Gable wouldn't tell us what a hero is. She said we had to look it up in a dictionary for ourselves and then pick one to write about."

"Your teacher is very wise," Dr. Bones said, "You will learn better by looking things up for yourself."

"Do you have a dictionary?" he asked, figuring that she had to with all of the books in her office.

"I do," she smiled, "Shall we look it up together?"

Parker nodded as Dr. Bones pulled the huge book out from underneath her desk. It was the biggest dictionary he had ever seen, but she helped him find the "H" section.

"Here it is!" he cried, "Wow, there are a lot of meanings here."

"Let me help you find the one you're looking for," Dr. Bones offered, taking the heavy book from him, "This one should do: 'a man distinguished by exceptional courage, nobility, and strength.'"

"Okay," he wrinkled his nose, unsure of what she just said, "What's distinguished mean?"

"In this context, it means 'noted for', though there are other meanings," she explained.

"Courage means being brave, right?" he asked.

She nodded her head and smiled. She looked like she wanted to say something else but she didn't, so he asked another question.

"What's nobility mean? Is that like a king or something?"

"While the word nobility is associated with kings, it can also refer to a person's character. Someone who also puts others before themselves and has a high moral standard is viewed, in our society, as a noble person."

"Daddy says character's when you do what's right even when nobody's there to watch you do it," Parker added.

"That is an excellent application of the word," she smiled, "Do you know what the word strength means in this context?"

"Having big muscles?" he guessed, not sure what the word context meant either.

"That can be one meaning," she nodded encouragingly, "But in terms of a hero it can denote mental and emotional toughness as well."

"Like not crying when you really want to?"

"Close, but it's more like not giving up when things do not go as you planned."

"Oh," he said, thinking through all they had talked about, "Okay. Thanks, Dr. Bones, you're a really good teacher, just like your dad."

"Thank you, Parker," he liked how she never treated him like a kid and always said how she really felt, "And you are a very good student. Do you know who you are going to write about now?"

"Uh huh," he neatly wrote a title for his paper at the top and showed it to her, "Do you think that will be good enough?"

"Yes, Parker," she said softly, "I think you have chosen very well."

She moved from around the desk where she had been sitting and started clearing a spot for him to write at across from her. She pulled the big chair closer and put a pillow from the couch on it so that he could write without sitting on his knees.

Together, they worked on their papers at her desk until it was time for him to go to science class. He finished right before they had to leave and put his paper in the folder and the folder in his backpack.

"So, Bub," Dad asked when they got back home from the Jeffersonian, "Did you get all your homework finished?"

"Uh huh," he nodded, "Dr. Bones helped tell me what a hero is so I could write my paper and I showed her who I picked and she said it was a good choice."

"Oh yeah," Dad seemed interested, "Who did you pick?"

Instead of telling him, Parker got out his paper and handed it to him.

"Really?" Dad asked, his voice kinda funny after he'd finished reading the whole thing.

Parker nodded and grinned and Dad gave him a big hug and ruffled his hair.

"I love you, Parker," he said.

"I love you too, Dad," Parker answered.

They said goodnight and Dad turned off the lights and left the room, still acting a little funny. Parker grabbed his paper and paper and reread the first sentence to make sure he'd spelled everything right: "My favorite hero is my dad, Special Agent Seeley Booth."


	22. 67 Percent

67%

Dr. Temperance Brennan walked through the Diner's front door, its bell announcing her arrival to all of the patrons, and felt the barest notion of trepidation. She sat down at her usual table, ordered her usual meal, and waited for her usual seatmate to arrive.

The last time she had truly spoken with him, they had argued. Not merely bickered, but genuinely fought. It didn't happen often, but when it did she always felt uneasy.

The bell chimed and she looked up to see Angela coming in. The artist waved, then went to sit at the counter by herself. Brennan was thankful for Angela's intuitive nature as she waited alone for Booth.

She was surprised that Angela had caught on to the tension between the partners because for once, the argument had not taken place anywhere near the Jeffersonian. They were in her apartment, eating Wong Foo's and completing their paperwork as they always did after a case.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBB

_"Bones," Booth turned to her with an odd look in his eye, "Are we more than just coffee?"_

_She was thrown by his question, "We are human beings, Booth, and to my knowledge there are no evolutionary links between humans and coffee."_

_"No, Bones," he shook his head, "I was talking about our session with Sweets yesterday. I know we said that our relationship was coffee but that just doesn't seem right."_

_"You mean you would wish to do more than simply meet for coffee should there be no more murders for us to solve?"_

_"Well yeah," he squirmed, a tad bit uncomfortable, "I mean, we're friends, right? And friends do more together than get together for coffee."_

_"I suppose it would depend on what type of jobs we held," she could see he was confused so she continued, "As it stands right now, my work hours only allow for limited hours of social fraternization. Even before I began working with the FBI, I still worked long hours."_

_"So you wouldn't make time for me?" he looked hurt and she was confused- it's not as if the scenario they were describing would ever come to fruition._

_"I don't know, Booth," she replied honestly, "I'm simply saying that I do have priorities in life."_

_"And I'm not one of them?" he was being irrational, but he seemed to be genuinely hurt as well._

_"I never said that," she attempted to be soothing but was obviously failing at that as his facial features grew more agitated, "I simply stated that coffee may be all I had time to meet for should we not work together."_

_"You know," Booth said, exasperated, "We've worked together for what, nearly three years now? And you're telling me that the best you could give me if we ever got split up is an hour or two for coffee?"_

_"You didn't seem so upset at the prospect yesterday," she pointed out._

_"That was in front of Sweets," he threw up his hands, "You think I'm gonna talk about anything real in front of the kid, Bones?"_

_"So you were agitated?"_

_"You weren't?" he didn't let her answer, but continued on, "I can't believe this, Bones!"_

_They both stood at the same time, toe-to-toe, neither giving way to the other._

_"My world does not revolve around you, Booth," she spat, angry that he was blowing the whole thing out of proportion._

_"Yeah, well I thought I was a bigger part of it," he retorted._

_"Egotistical male!" she hurled._

_"Stubborn, selfish female," he hurled back._

_"Perhaps it's time for you to leave for the night, Agent Booth," she ground out._

_"Perhaps it is, Dr. Brennan," he replied._

_He stalked around her living room, gathering his things as he moved toward the door._

_"Chew on this, though, Bones," he said facing her one last time before he left, "What percentage of time do we spend together in a given day right now? Maybe when you figure that out, Bones, you'll figure out what kind of relationship we really have."_

BBBBBBBBBBB

His question haunted her and she hadn't addressed it for several days. They continued to work cases together, and on the outside everything seemed to be as it always had been. But their conversations were stilted and they never brought up the subject of their friendship again. Finally, she calculated the answer to Booth's question, and had called to let him know that she did. They had agreed to meet at the Diner for lunch.

She looked up as a familiar scent wafted into her nasal passage. Her partner looked much wearier than he had the last time she had taken note, and there was a resigned air to him that had not been present then either.

"Sixty-seven percent," she told him quietly when his gaze shifted in her direction, "We spend roughly sixteen point eight hours, or sixty-seven percent, of our time together on a daily basis."

"Huh," he smirked, "That much, Bones?"

"Roughly," she said, "Factoring in time for sleep and the instances where I am at the Jeffersonian and you are at the Hoover Building. I nearly included time for travel to and from work, but then recalled that we are normally together during those times, as well as meal times."

"And what did that tell you?" his voice wasn't harsh, but neither was it warm.

"That we are workaholics," she had learned the term from Angela, and practiced the joke, hoping it would help lighten the moment.

She noticed the corners of his mouth tilt up just a hint.

"Funny, Bones," he replied drily.

"It means that we spend an inordinate amount of time together," she admitted, "And given the circumstances that we have been through the relationship that we share is unavoidable."

"And what is that, exactly?" he pressed.

"I don't know, Booth," she threw up her hands, "I have spent hours trying to quantify it in terms that would resonate with both of us and yet I cannot. It seems to me that you interpret a "coffee" friend to be a surface friendship and obviously that is what we share, however exactly how far beyond the "surface" we are, I cannot be certain."

"Hey," he said, his eyes softening, "Look, I'm sorry, Bones, I shouldn't have pressed you in the first place."

"Then why did you?"

"That coffee line irked me, I guess," he shrugged, "I mean, if we're spending all this time together now and someday we move on or whatever-" he stopped as if unsure whether or not he wished to continue- "I just wanted to make sure we were friends, Bones- that we'd always be friends."

"Yes, Booth," she nodded, "We are friends. And," she smiled, "Should murders cease and we are forced to give up our partnership, you will always be welcomed at the Jeffersonian."

"So that I can force you out of the lab and remind you to eat like a regular person?" he teased.

"If you insist," she nodded, "And so that we can visit together. That way I can make time for-" she paused, giving him a genuine smile before finishing the thought, "-my friend."


	23. Obsession

Obsession

Dr. Clark Edison smiled at Dr. Brennan's toast from his perch on the barstool and wondered how he'd ended up with this eclectic- and often infuriating- group of people.

The first time he'd worked with them, he'd been hoping for a job. He knew that they'd been really close to the last guy who filled in, but he had always kept his private life separate from his work so if they didn't want to get close that was fine with him.

He learned quickly that Dr. Brennan was the boss and everyone fell in line behind her. His first clue was when she had grilled him more closely than Dr. Saroyan had. His second was when Dr. Saroyan informed him that even she wasn't sure what Dr. Brennan thought about her; and she was supposed to be the boss. He also found out quickly that he would never be called "Bones" in this lab and it didn't surprise him in the least that they had released him as soon as Dr. Addy came back from Iraq.

Apparently, however, he _had_ made an impression on Dr. Brennan, because when it came time to select a forensic anthropologist for her father's murder trial she had turned to him. It had taken every trick he had learned over the years to find the discrepancy with the weapon the prosecution had claimed Mr. Kennan had used, but it got the job done and at the end of the day had provided them with the leverage that they needed to produce reasonable doubt. Dr. Brennan had even thanked him personally after the trial was over.

Then had come Dr. Addy's accident, confession, and sudden dismissal from the Jeffersonian. Clark had once again hoped that he would be the primary candidate for Dr. Brennan's consideration, and he felt he had a fair shot given his prior experience. He had proven himself worthy and had put in for the job as soon as the posting had been made.

Instead of being the frontrunner, though, he had found himself caught up in some weird farce of what a work environment should be- especially a scientific one such as theirs. He'd peeled off his latex gloves in disgust and left them to their soap opera.

Now he was back, and attending a birthday party of all things. Office drama still lurked wherever he turned but he'd gotten used to it by now and he and seemed to be getting along with all of them much better now. He knew one of the other interns was waiting in the wings for their spot on the rotation, but maybe if he stuck around long enough they'd hire him.

So he lifted his glass, smiled, and resigned himself to the fact that even though he could do without the drama, he was utterly obsessed with the thought of working at the Jeffersonian.


	24. Mischief Managed

Mischief Managed

Caroline Julian watched the genius in front of her process the terms for procuring the conjugal trailer for her Brennan family Christmas. The attorney thought for a moment that Dr. Brennan would call her on the absurd request, but she did not. Instead, she fired off a series of rapid-fire questions in order to specify the precise terms that were to be followed. Caroline wasn't sure exactly where the steamboats had come from, but she'd thrown it out there anyway and the scientist had swallowed it hook, line, and sinker.

Terms reached, the two parted ways for the time being. Caroline sighed, wondering how she had gotten pulled into this motley crew in the first place. She liked Booth, and most days she liked Dr. Brennan- though the other woman's naiveté and blunt honesty drove her nuts sometimes. She had seen the sparks that flew between them, even back in New Orleans, and had shaken her head at how brilliantly dumb they were in regards to their personal relationship. Maybe this would get it through their thick heads.

As if there on official court business, she strode through the halls of the Jeffersonian and reached the lab, heading straight for the scientist's office. She had seen Booth's SUV in the parking lot and knew both parties were there, but as to whether Booth had agreed or not remained to be seen. He, unlike his partner, would've seen right through her scheme, so she was counting on Brennan's cussed stubbornness and determination to see them through.

Sure enough, Brennan had steamrolled him into it, and all it took was a verbal nudge from Caroline and the two were under the mistletoe and lockin' lips.

It started out chaste enough, but she could see as the steamboats went well-beyond the ones she had prescribed that the people in front of her were enjoying themselves. Dr. Brennan had a hold on Booth's lapels and Booth for his part looked like he was doing everything in his power not to move his "partner" up against the nearest wall and go at her.

Then as suddenly as they started, they pulled apart- thoroughly flustered and immediately denying that they felt anything.

Caroline buried her triumphant smirk as deeply as she could and went along with Brennan's line about kissing her brother, pretending to be unimpressed with the display. Booth looked like he'd been run over by a Mac truck, and it took everything in her to keep her mouth shut when she saw his jaw chomping unconsciously on Brennan's gum. She took one last look at the pair of them and left, deciding it was up to them now.

She left the Jeffersonian as confidently as she had entered it, smirking all the way.

"Mischief managed," she said to no one in particular.


	25. Are You Challenging Me?

Are You Challenging Me?

Dr. Lance Sweets tapped his foot in a rhythmic pattern on the floor, bored out of his mind. He'd thought several times about bringing in some of his action figures for days like this, but he'd also seen _Spaceballs_ enough to know how goofy he would look. Besides, he was already struggling to gain the respect of his new colleagues here at the Hoover.

It was maddening, he found, to pierce the psyche of the FBI's brightest and best. First, because most were convinced that they had no problems to begin with, and second because they treated him like the seniors used to his freshman year in high school. He was surprised no one had painted "Geek" on his shower-room locker yet, but he wouldn't put it past some of them.

He blew out a breath between his lips and wished for an older-looking face and the ability to grow a proper beard. People- older people, most of whom were related to him- had always said that he would love looking in his thirties when he was in his fifties. He didn't discount that, but looking like a teenager when he was well into his twenties was not proving to offer him any favors.

He'd been here six month so far, worked with a few agents dealing with post traumatic stress, and met with two families of agents who would never again be coming home. It was all well and good, of course, but he was itching for something more.

His office phone rang, startling him.

"Dr. Lance Sweets," he answered, thankful that his voice didn't crack.

"Sweets," he instantly recognized the voice of Deputy Director Cullen, "Be in my office in five."

The line was dead before Sweets could respond, so he straightened his tie and tried to remember where Cullen's office was in relation to his own.

Four minutes and thirty-nine seconds later, he was being ushered into Cullen's office.

"Sit down," the director ordered and Sweets obeyed, "You familiar with Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan at all?"

"I know of their reputation, of course," everyone had, though he wasn't about to repeat some of the rumors that had trickled down to him.

"Yeah, well," Cullen took a deep breath, "Booth had to arrest Brennan's father a while back and the trial's coming up sooner than I'd like to think about."

Sweets nodded his head, he had heard about the unique situation through the office scuttlebutt.

"Now look," Cullen leaned toward him and pointed a finger, "The last thing I want to do is break up my best team, so I need you to work with them and make sure that doesn't happen. You might have to make them _think_ that it's going to happen, but don't let it!"

"What exactly are you asking me to do with them?" Sweets was confused, though eager for the new opportunity.

"I don't know," Cullen threw up his hands, "Do teambuilding exercises and all that stuff you do to help people work better together. You're the kid genius."

"So a couple's counseling approach, then?" Sweets asked tentatively, "To evaluate how well they work together and ensure that they continue to before, during, and after the trial?"

"Whatever works," the other man nodded, effectively dismissing Sweets, "I'll have Booth's file on your desk by this afternoon."

"Thank you, sir," Sweets replied, confident in the abilities that had gotten him to where he was.

"And Sweets," Cullen said as the younger man reached for the door, "This isn't going to be a walk in the park so watch yourself."

"Are you saying this will challenge me?" he asked, his confidence wavering.

The sound of Cullen's ensuing laughter rang in his ears all the way back to his office and he wondered exactly what he was about to get himself into.


	26. Cat

Cat

Camille Saroyan was not naturally a vain person. That is, she liked the way she looked and she knew that men found her attractive, so she just went with that and let the pieces fall where they may. For this event, though, she decided that she needed to make an impression with the guys.

For one thing, it was her first time at this event. Last year she had still been trying to find her footing with the team, and she decided that it was best to stay as far away from group frivolity- especially where alcohol would be present. It was her way of keeping the line solid between herself and her subordinates.

This year, though, was different. It had taken her a few hits and misses- not to mention that fling with Booth- before she finally found the rhythm that this off-beat team of scientists marched to. They had all faced life and death together and she felt as if she belonged. So, when the invitations for the annual Halloween party at the Jeffersonian came around this year, she accepted.

Now, she frowned, she just had to find a costume.

She weeded through all of the costumes at the local shop, but nothing stood out to her. She supposed, if nothing else, she could go as a French Maid or a Naughty Nurse, but those were so clichéd and not particularly the strong image she still wished to maintain as the boss. Next was an aisle of animal costumes, which she didn't even bother going down- anything that added weight was bad in her book.

Finally came the licensed costumes. She rejected Supergirl and Wonder Woman right away- they weren't her type. Aqua Woman and Sailor Moon were also off the table. She seriously toyed with the idea of Xena Warrior Princess and put it on her "maybe" list. When she reached the last costume, however, she knew she'd found the perfect costume.

She took it down and headed to a dressing room. It was a good fit, though it didn't leave very much to the imagination. Still, it was exactly what she had been looking for- strength, power, and agility combined into one perfect package.

"Move over, Halle Berry," she said to the mirror, "There's a new cat in DC!"


	27. Questioning

Questioning

"Daddy," Parker's voice piped up from the back of Booth's SUV, "What does FBI stand for?"

Relieved that it wasn't a question about girls or where babies came from Booth replied with a grin, "Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"What's 'federal' mean?"

"Federal means we work for the government," Booth told him.

"My teacher says that government's very important."

"She's right, Bub," Booth nodded, "We help make sure everything in the country runs smooth."

"Does the government keep _all_ of their clothes at the FBI?" Parker wanted to know next.

"What?" Booth felt lost now, "What do you mean?"

Parker spoke carefully, "You said the FBI was a bureau, and mom says another word for my dresser is a bureau, and my dresser's where I keep all of my clothes, so I figured the government keeps their clothes in _their_ bureau."

Booth had to work to stifle a laugh, "It's not that kind of bureau, Parker."

"What kind is it?"

Booth scrambled for an answer, wishing fervently that Bones was there to help him, "It's a department," he came up with lamely, "You know how at stores they have separate places for toys, and books, and electronic stuff?" Parker nodded his head, "Well, those are departments that all work together to help the store run."

"So what's the FBI do then?"

"Well, we investigate things for the government- help them solve all of the mysteries that people ask them to."

"Like your cases, you mean?" Parker wanted to know.

"Yup," Booth felt a swell of pride surge through him, glad that he could explain things in a way that Parker could understand.

"So is Dr. Bones in the FBI too?" apparently the interrogation wasn't over.

"No, but she works for the government too, just on the science stuff," he wondered what his partner would think of that job description, then added, "Bones went to school for a long time, so she can see lots of things in our cases that I can't."

"So," Parker looked like he was trying to piece together all of the information he'd been given, "People ask the government for help, and then the government asks the FBI for help, and then you ask Dr. Bones for help?"

"Pretty much," Booth nodded.

"It's good that people are so helpful," Parker observed.

Apparently satisfied, Parker leaned back against his seat and was quiet for the rest of the trip back to Booth's townhouse. The two of them had a blast at the park, then Booth treated them to hamburgers and ice cream afterwards.

"Daddy," Parker yawned as he lay in bed that night, "I think I want to help the government out when I get big too."

"Really?" Booth chest swelled with pride and a mental image of he and his son working in the FBI together made him grin from ear to ear.

"Uh huh," Parker nodded, burrowing deeper under the covers, "I wanna be just like Dr. Bones. Do you think she'll help me?"

"I bet she will," Booth shook his head, knowing the ribbing he would get from her if she should ever find out about this, "I bet she will."

"Good," Parker nodded, closing his eyes, "'Cause then you and me can be partners and help each other out too."


	28. Smile

Smile

Smiles are a funny thing. Though, the exact count is disputed from doctor to doctor, it takes no less than twelve muscles to form an authentic one. The corners of the lips must rise, along with the nose. The angle of the mouth must be elevated and its corners be pulled sideways. Finally, each of the eyes must crinkle slightly; though some would argue that a smile begins in the eyes and radiates throughout the entire face from there.

Smiles can be used for all sorts of purposes. There is the sardonic smile, used to convey sarcasm or cynicism. The smirk, for teasing; the closed smile for when you don't agree with someone, but you must for courtesy's sake. Smiles can convey pleasure, pride, or even pain. If you become exceptionally good, no one can tell whether you are smiling because you are genuinely happy, or because you are masking a hidden heartache. A smile can light up a room and swell the heart.

As a one-time student of the human psyche, as well as a current student of the human body, Daisy Wick has seen each of these smiles on the faces of her co-workers at the Jeffersonian. She knows that she is looked down on by them for being too chipper, too eager to please- and possibly for smiling too much- but she cannot help herself. Her parents are dour, cheerless people who never once praised her for her achievements great or small and so she seeks the approval of others in the only way she knows how.

So when the inevitable comes to pass and she is released from her coveted position as Dr. Brennan's grad student, she once again resorts to a smile. It is a sad one at first, but the man in front of her has one of the kindest smiles she has ever seen. She reads the love in his eyes and feels it in the short kiss that they share on the forensic platform. And she suddenly realizes that she might not have a job, but she finally has a reason to really smile.


	29. Night

Night

As twilight dropped like a curtain over the small mid-western town, Special Agent Seeley Booth-_no, Buck Moosejaw_- scanned the circus grounds for his partner-_no, wife_. Several hours ago, she had wandered off with some of the other women, while he and the guys had sat around a campfire throwing back beers and swapping stories of circuses they'd worked for. Well, they had thrown back beers while Booth-_Buck_- had nursed one throughout the night, not wanting to miss anything that was being said.

So far, he and Bones-_Wanda_- had gotten nowhere, though it was only their first day here, and the people had proven to be as tight-lipped as Sweets had said they would be, even with people who were not the first of May. A part of him hoped that the case wouldn't be solved before the first show, but another part of him was terrified of that same thing. The hope came because he wanted to show these people how good her really was; the fear came because if he was off just one tiny bit he could kill the other half of the act- literally.

Buck moved past the main tent, giving a wide berth to the group of clowns that was coming out from practicing their routine, and finally found the object of his search still chatting with the other women.

"You ready to pack it in for the night, Wanda?" he asked, coming up behind her and slinging an arm around her shoulder like he had as Tony years before.

"In a minute, Buck," she smiled just a little too sweetly, pushed his arm off of her, and turned back to the women.

"Ooh, Honey," the bearded lady spoke, eyeing Booth up and down, "If she won't pack it in with you I will!"

"Or me," came a voice, though he couldn't see who had spoken there were so many of them.

A round of assenting nods went around the group.

"Sorry to disappoint, ladies," he flashed his charm smile and moved to wrap his arm around his supposed wife's waist, "But this barber only runs a one-woman act."

He managed to pull her to him and drag her off in a way that made it look like they were going to get lost in each other again. In reality, of course, she was glaring daggers at him, but he could hear the women muttering about rocking trailers and good suspension, so he ignored Bones. He managed to get her into the trailer without her exploding on him.

''What was that all about?" she hissed, "I was starting to get to know those women."

"For one thing, I was in danger of getting jumped by the mob back there, but more importantly, you were starting to giggle like a school-girl," he shook his head, "And if I'm not mistaken, you were just about to ask them about the twins."

She shoved his accusing finger away from her and tried glaring at him again, "Well, that _is_ what we're here to do!"

"Wrong," he told her, "We're here to fit in. Once we do that, _then_ we've earned the right to ask questions."

He spread his arms out so that he was touching both walls of the trailer, and motioned that she do the same. Fortunately she picked up on what he wanted her to do without him having to ask.

"How will we know when we've fit in?" she asked, as they began rocking the trailer back and forth rhythmically.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "We just will. Besides, we might not have to if your squints come up with something between now and the first show."

She seemed to ponder that, and nodded, still moviing back and forth, "Were you able to ingratiate yourself among the men?"

He rolled his eyes, "No, they were just blowing smoke tonight trying to impress me. Seriously though-" he mimed the word Bones at her, "-you've got to stop using the ten-dollar words or these guys are gonna know that something is up."

"Well-" she mimed the word Booth at him, "-as I said before, being a circus performer does not automatically imply that I should employ a lesser vocabulary. Certainly these people read books and such."

"Yeah, and some of them never finished high school either," he shot back.

"That is a grossly prejudicial statement, and for your information, I am a good actress!" she insisted, stopping the rocking and crossing her arms across her chest.

He stepped closer to her and spoke softly so that no one outside the trailer could overhear him, "One word, Bones: Bethesda."

Her cheeks pinked at that, though her stance didn't budge an inch. When she didn't speak for a full minute he decided it was time to back off.

"Look," he said, voice still low, but gentler, "We're both tired and on edge so let's just get some sleep and we'll come up with a plan in the morning."

She nodded and dropped her arms.

"Um," he started, not sure how to broach the subject, "So, you can have the bed and I'll sleep on the floor."

"The floor is disgusting," she wrinkled her nose, "Not to mention you have a bad back."

"What were you thinking, then?"

"I was thinking we're Buck and Wanda Moosejaw," she said as if the answer was obvious, "And if someone should happen upon us or decide to snoop through a window it would be very suspicious if we were not sleeping in the same bed, especially given the amount of sex that we've been-"

He cut her off with a hand, "I get it, Bones, I don't need you to draw me a diagram."

A puzzled look crossed her face, but she shook it off, "Either way, there is no reason we should not share the bed together."

Booth could think of two big reasons as she peeled off her shirt, revealing a low-cut tank top beneath it. He prayed with all of his might that she wouldn't decide to take off anything else just yet, and was relieved when she moved under the covers to change into her sweatpants.

"Well, come on, _Buck_," she said, "As you've said, we've had a long day and no doubt tomorrow will be an even longer one."

He shook his head to clear it, and she thought he was telling her no.

"It's not as if I haven't seen you naked before," she pointed out, yawning, "Though if you would be more comfortable, you may turn out the lights first."

He did turn off the dim cabin lights before stripping down, though he kept on his wife-beater and his boxers.

"Are you coming?" she asked sleepily.

"Coming, Dear," he spoke loud enough for any curious ears that were still out and about.

He moved onto the bed- which was wider than he'd originally thought- and laid down, extremely aware of the feminine presence beside him.

"Good night, Booth," she murmured, turning to face the other way.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall until he knew that she was asleep. Determining that he could do this if she could, he tore his eyes away from her, turned to face the rest of the cabin, and closed his eyes.

"'Night, Bones," he whispered to himself, "Sweet dreams."


	30. Mirror

Mirror

Seeley Booth groaned. He wasn't sure exactly where he was, but his mouth was dry, his clothes dirty, and his head felt like somebody had been using it for batting practice. A look around the room still didn't give him a clue as to where he was, but it was dark.

He tried standing up, but his legs weren't too steady under him. Rolling over so that he could push himself up he found himself in a pile of vomit and nearly yakked. Sternly he told himself that it was mind over matter and all he needed to do was haul himself to his feet.

Finally, he was- upright would be giving himself too much credit- but at least, he thought, he could start navigating his way out of this rat-hole. Around him, people were passed out left and right. A few bleary eyes met his and their heads bobbed up and down in acknowledgment as he left.

Once he was out of the building and on the street the inky blackness surrounded him, giving him a shield against anyone roaming around who might spot him and shy away. They always did, he knew, and he also knew that he probably would have too once upon a time.

But that was the past- before he'd killed- before he'd be taken captive and injured in a "conflict" that nobody back home supported.

The neon lights at a 24-hour gas beckoned him to go in and clean up, so he did. Ignoring the stare and the wrinkled nose of the middle-aged man working the graveyard shift he headed for the bathroom. He relieved himself first, then turned the rickety knobs of the sink. They squealed in protest and only gave him cold water, but he really didn't care.

Splashing water on his face, he took a deep breath and looked up. The face that stared back at him was unrecognizable and a wave of shame plowed into him. As if the mirror were a magic one the image in front of him warped and he could see himself years down the road with the same haggard face and vacant eyes that his father had sported throughout Booth's childhood.

No, his vice wasn't alcohol- though he'd had a good bit of some hard stuff last night- but gambling wasn't too far above that and the way Booth's luck had turned recently he'd spend the rest of his life on the street if he didn't do something to change. He looked again, and the image morphed back into his own face. He bathed his face in the water one more time, straightened his clothes as best he could, and stood tall for the first time since he'd been stateside again.

It was time to get out of Vegas and do something with his life.


	31. Pen and Paper

Pen and Paper

"Alright," Sweets crossed his legs and faced the two stubborn people in front of him, "Your homework for this week is simple-"

"Homework!" Dr. Brennan cut him off before he could finish giving the assignment.

"Com' on, Sweets," Agent Booth glared daggers at him, "You might still be in Jr. High, but we're not. Find somebody else to do your homework for you."

"Ah," Sweets held up a finger, "But this has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the two of you," they exchanged a silent look of disgust, but seemed to be paying attention so he hurried before he lost them again, "You are each to hand-write five sentences that state what you appreciate about your partner. You will then exchange them during our session next week and you are not allowed to exchange any information on this topic until that time."

"Look, this might be right up the _author's_ alley," Booth looked pointedly at his partner, "But I'm not a writer."

"Why do you insist they be handwritten?" Dr. Brennan asked.

"Typed notes are impersonal, whereas a handwritten note indicates that time and personal effort were put into the project."

He was about to expound further when both of their phones went off simultaneously.

"You know," he said to their retreating forms, "This is getting old quick guys!"

Booth smirked and threw him a wave while Dr. Brennan simply turned and left.

For the next week, Booth and Brennan worked separately on their assignment. She found that it was difficult to put into exact words how she felt, while he had trouble narrowing the things he appreciated about her down to only five. Fortunately, there were no grisly murders to solve that week, though both of them wished that there had been so that they would have an excuse not to write. Finally, however, the week was over and each of them had successfully completed the assignment.

"So," Booth asked as they sat eating lunch at the diner just before their session, "Can I see it?"

"See what, Booth?" she asked, stealing a fry from his plate.

"You know," he leaned in closely and half-whispered, "The _list_."

"That would be against Sweets' rules," she scoffed.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he waved another fry in front of her.

She grabbed the fry and shook her head, "No. _I_ for one, enjoy following the rules. Besides, it's time to get going."

"But I haven't had my pie yet," he complained.

"We can come back later," she pointed out, "And the sooner we get there the sooner we can get this over with."

This time when they walked into his office, Sweets was ready for them.

"Cell phones," he held out his hand expectantly, "Now."

"Ooh, Sweets is putting on his scary face, Bones, watch out!"

"Mock me all you want, Agent Booth, but all it takes it one report to Cullen telling him that you two are being uncooperative and, well, you never know what he might do…"

Muttering under their breaths they each pulled out their cell phones and placed them in his hand. He grinned, then turned them off and set them on his desk.

"You may have them back as soon as we finish," he said, "Now, let's begin. Dr. Brennan, you share the first sentence on your list and then Agent Booth, you go next. I assume the neither one of you has spoken of this to each other thus far?"

"No way," Booth shook his head vehemently, "We do this, we do it our way. I hand my paper to Bones, she hands me her paper and you sit there and play with your dolls or something."

"He offered to show me his if I showed him mine earlier, but I refused," Brennan put in.

Sweets nearly choked on her phraseology, but one glare from Booth silenced him and he cleared his throat, "Fine, you do it your way then and we will discuss things afterward."

With great caution and trepidation, the two exchanged papers and began reading.

"Hey Bones," Booth said a minute later, "Did you really mean what you said for number three?"

"Of course, Booth," she replied simply, "Why would I write something I did not mean? I presume that you meant everything you said in your fourth sentence?"

"Completely, Temperance," he said softly, taking her hand, "Never doubt that."

"Then you shouldn't doubt what I wrote either, Seeley," she squeezed his hand in return.

Sweets smiled, rather proud of himself, as he watched the scene in front of him unfold. He was dying to know what each of them had written, but felt that might impede the progress they were making.

"You know what, Bones?" Booth asked, scooting closer to her and pulling a pen from his jacket pocket, I'm going to add a sixth sentence to my list."

He plucked the paper from her hand, scribbled furiously and then handed it back to her with a grin.

"Truly?" she asked.

He pulled back in mock horror with his hand on his chest, "Now how could you ask that Bones? Would I write something if I didn't mean it?"

She shoved him playfully and stood up, "Dr. Sweets, thank you for having us do this assignment. It may well have been your most intelligent and fruitful one yet."

She picked up her cell phone from Sweets' desk and turned to leave, Booth hot on her heels.

"Diner?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied.

And they left.

_Folded just inside the cover of _Red Tape, White Bones :

Five Things I appreciate about my partner, Seeley Booth

I appreciate his intuitive insights into human nature; whether they pertain to cases or our own life experiences.

I appreciate his efforts to mend the relationship between myself and my father.

Although I am not a physically demonstrative person by nature, I appreciate Booth's "Guy Hugs" and other physical overtures when he recognizes that I am in need of them.

I appreciate his over-protective nature for the most part- though sometimes it can be a bit trying.

I appreciate that he is always trying to better himself, and that he challenges those around him to do the same.

_Folded neatly and placed on a shelf underneath Jasper the pig and Brainy Smurf:_

Five things I appreciate about my partner, Bones(Dr. Temperance Brennan):

I appreciate her hard work and dedication and that she never gives up and always gives 100%.

I appreciate her viewpoints- even when we don't see eye to eye- they help remind me that mine aren't the only ones out there.

I appreciate the time we spend together- especially the meals at Sid's or the Diner.

I appreciate her passion; people read her as unfeeling at first, but Bones is the most passionate person I know when it comes to seeking justice, and she's also passionate about lots of other things too and it's contagious and keeps me at the top of my game.

I appreciate her smile- it's her best feature and it makes my day when she smiles at me.

I like it when she calls me Seeley 'cause it lets me know she values me as much as I value her.


	32. Out Cold

Out Cold

Dr. Temperance Brennan sat in the stands at her partner's hockey game, and wondered if hockey was always this violent of a sport. Objectively, she knew that Booth was instigating the violence in order for Wendell to collect samples, but at the same time, the game's mediator never interfered. It was both fascinating and horrifying to watch grown men pummel each other over a small, black piece of rubber. The blood smear that stayed on the window where she and Agent Perotta sat was especially disturbing.

Finally, samples had been taken from all of the opposing team's players save one. It was not for lack of trying on Booth's part, however the man seemed to be unflappable. As the game wore on, Booth's tactics appeared to be working until at last, his elbow made solid contact with the other man's mouth. Blood poured out and he spit it onto the ice. His body language showed that he would not contain his rage for much longer and before she had a chance to warn Booth, the man skated over to him and hit Booth so hard that Booth's helmet flew off and he landed on the ice with a resounding thud.

She waited for him to get up, but he didn't.

Thirty seconds later he still wasn't up and her anxiety level was rising exponentially. She excused herself from her seat and went down to the ice. Wendell opened a door for her and she stepped out onto the ice. Cautiously, she made her way through the athletes.

Booth was still not moving and she found it disturbed her more than she would have liked to admit. Her mind flashed back to another time, when Booth was laying on the floor, unresponsive- her hands trying to staunch the flow of blood as it pulsed out of him.

"Booth," she started calling his name, "Booth! Booth! Booth!"

Finally, his eyes fluttered opened and he looked up at her.

"Bones," he looked dazed, "What are you doing on the ice?"

She could have come up with some contrived speech about head traumas or some other technical aspect, but she chose the truth.

"I get nervous when you fall down and don't get up."


	33. Spiral

Spiral

In a park on the edge of Washington DC is a man searching for redemption and atonement for all of his failures.

As a son, he has failed to gain the respect of the one man he yearned to gain it from- he loves his father despite all of the pain the man caused him, but has only ever had vague hints that his father loved him back. As a brother, he succeeded in protecting his younger brother, but failed to help him become a man.

Professionally, he has learned that success and failure often come hand in hand and are often difficult to distinguish up close. The success he had as a sniper brought with it an unshakable sense of guilt- not to mention the toll captivity took on his body and spirit. He could write the book on PTSD if he wanted to and he makes sure to keep up with each of his buddies as they get out of the service so that they don't turn to gambling or any other vise like he did. War is hell, he hears people say, but it's worse when there is no war and you still have to go through hell to defend the freedoms the rest of the country takes for granted.

The FBI was the next step after he figured out who he was and what he wanted to do- put away as many as he's shot and maybe the scales will all balance out in the end. But that's backfired on him too, and for every five people they've put away, he's had to take yet another life. He hates it, but what else is there for him to do?

Personally, he's a bona fide screw-up. Becca wouldn't marry him, Tessa wouldn't go on vacation with him, Cam- well, to be honest he let her go before she could leave him- but he knows she was never in it for the long haul, and the one person he dreams in secret about sharing his life with makes no bones about the fact that she sees monogamy as suspect at best, and marriage as outdated. And so the years pass and the dream of the white picket fence fades. At least he has a surrogate relationship to fill the void- and Parker.

Parker. He knows he doesn't spend as much time with him as he should, but he's doing his best and they all tell him he's a good dad- even Becca- so he clings to that and does everything he can to keep it that way.

"Dad! Dad! Did you see that?" his boy yells, jumping up and down.

"Yeah, buddy," he grins, "That was the perfect spiral!"

In a park on the edge of DC a man hugs his son and they continue to run patterns across the open field. His heart is lighter than when he first came and he finds the first hints of redemption in the tow-haired boy's laughter. Maybe, just maybe, there's hope for Seeley Booth after all.


	34. Triangle

Triangle

"Okay," Dr. Lance Sweets said, sitting back and crossing his legs, "Our last exercise today has to do with shapes."

"Shapes?" Booth said incredulously, "What are we, in Preschool or something?"

"No," Sweets said shaking his head vigorously, "No, I mean I want you each to think of a shape that characterizes your partnership and share it. For example, if you were to pick a shape the defined your relationship with me, what would it be?"

"A pentagram," Booth muttered and his partner snickered too.

"Okay," Sweets backed up, "Bad example. Look, just pick a shape and decide why you would choose it and then we'll share."

Both partners seemed to consider the assignment, so he allowed them to think. Five minutes later, Agent Booth was restlessly tapping his foot, and Dr. Brennan was glaring at him to stop, so Sweets called on them for their answers.

"Agent Booth," he nodded, "Why don't you go first?"

"Nope" Booth shook his head, "Ladies' first."

"That is a highly sexist gesture," Brennan crossed her arms over her chest and pinned him with her eyes.

"Bones," he said, "It's showing deference to you."

"Yes," she agreed, "But what bearing does my status as a woman have on the way you treat me?"

"It makes all the difference," he said, eyes going narrow.

"I don't see why it should," she huffed, "Simply because my body structure and genitalia differ from yours does not require you to give deference to me in certain situations."

Booth blushed at the word genitalia, but recovered quickly, "It shows I respect you, Bones."

"I should hope that you would respect me for my accomplishments, both in the scientific and literary fields, not for my sex- which I had no control over," she frowned.

Sweets simply sat, observing the verbal ping-pong match and wondering how long it would take them to remember he was in the room.

"I do respect you for those things, Bones," he assured her.

She simply sat there, silent, her eyes belying her disbelief.

"Temperance," Booth shifted over toward her on the couch and turned his entire body to face her, before laying his hand on her knee, "You know that my respect for you goes way beyond the fact that you're a woman. I've always stood up for you and your abilities."

The look between them was intense, and thoughts were exchanged without the use of words until Brennan's head dipped slightly in acknowledgement.

"This entire exchange is irrelevant though," she pointed out.

"Why's that?" Booth invited her response.

"Your supposed deference to me as a woman in this scenario was no more than a ploy to avoid having to share your answer first," she dared him to contradict her and he offered her a charm smile in return.

"Fine," he shrugged, as in tandem they turned back to face their highly amused psychiatrist, "I chose a circle."

"A circle?" she questioned him just as Sweets opened his mouth.

"Yeah, Bones," he looked at her, "We're the center and the center of any target is a circle."

She nodded in understanding and sat back in her seat.

"Dr. Brennan, which shape did you select?" Sweets asked.

"At first I had selected a dodecahedron," she said matter-of-factly, ignoring her partner, who was rolling his eyes, "As it is complex and multi-faceted. However, in the end, I opted for the triangle instead."

"And why was that?" Sweets prompted.

"It is simple in appearance, yet has an inexhaustible number of applicable properties," she replied, "Not to mention, it is the most structurally sound of the simple shapes."

"So, basically, we're really useful and solid?" Booth asked her.

"While that is an extremely simplistic interpretation- yes," she nodded her head.

"Well," he said, helping her to her feet, "The word 'basically' _does_ imply simplicity."

She arched an eyebrow at him, as they headed for the door, "Indeed it does, and I am impressed with your vocabulary skills."

"_That_," Booth said as they exited the office, "Was just plain snooty."

Sweets smiled and shook his head as a new argument ensued, the rest of it cut off from him as the elevator swallowed them, and the doors slid shut.


	35. Drowning

**A/N: This takes place right after Wannabe in the Weeds.**

Drowning

A tow-haired little boy sat on his couch, shocked at the picture that was on his TV and remembered the man they were talking about.

Only a couple of months before, he had been out in his yard, just playing behind his favorite bush, when a man wearing a motorcycle helmet jumped over the fence. Before Toby had a chance to run and get his mom, the man had grabbed him and held him tight, while another man appeared, telling the man with the motorcycle helmet that it was over.

The second man had blood on his face and a gun and Toby started screaming and kicking his legs, "No! No! Put me down!"

The man with the gun told the man with the helmet to put him down, so Toby thought maybe he was the good guy. He didn't have much more time to think, because the man who was holding him all of a sudden jumped into Toby's pool with Toby still in his arms.

Down, down Toby went with the bad man, until they were at the bottom of the pool. Toby had screamed as they were going into the pool, so he didn't get a nice deep breath like you're supposed to when you go underwater. This man must be a really _bad_ bad guy, Toby decided as he was pinned onto the bottom of the pool. He kept his eyes closed tight and prayed it would be over soon.

He started feeling sleepy and his nose was clogged with water so he decided to rest.

The next thing he knew strong arms were lifting him off of the bottom of the pool. A man- the second man her realized- was holding him and telling him that everything was going to be alright. Toby didn't see the motorcycle man so he hoped the second man was right.

Mom had come out soon after that, and the man who'd rescued Toby told her that his name was Special Agent Seeley Booth. He told mom that he would make sure that the guy who grabbed Toby was captured, then he gave a quick wave and left.

A tear slid down Toby's face as his sat on his couch, watching the lady on the news say that Special Agent Seeley Booth had died in the line of duty. Toby would never forget Agent Booth and he promised himself that one day, he'd grow up and save other little boy's lives too.


	36. Advertisement

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Dr. Temperance Brennan stared down at the paper in front of her, frowned, and crumpled the paper as she threw it into the trashcan.

"Score!" came the exclamatory remark as Booth sauntered into her office, "You know, with aim like that you should join a basketball team."

Brennan sighed, Booth was both the only and the last person she wanted to see tonight. She knew his appearance at her office was only a matter of time, however she had hoped to be finished with this task by now so that he wouldn't say anything about it.

Shooting him a withering glare, she set back to the task at hand.

_Wanted_, she wrote, _forensic anthropologist major who is able to serve as an-_

She stopped at the place that had been giving her troubles all afternoon. What did she want them to serve as? Her assistant? Her equal in the lab?

Each of those brought back scores of memories. Zack the assistant who gained confidence with each passing case until they worked together nearly as smoothly as she and Booth did. Zack the forensic anthropologist, who had earned his doctorate, shorn his hair, practiced his courtroom performances, gone off to Iraq- and then taken the word of a serial killer and killed a man.

She shook her head violently again, and again threw the wadded attempt into the trashcan.

"You writing a new book?" Booth asked from her couch, looking up from their most recent batch of unending paperwork.

She shook her head fiercely and sent him a look that she hoped warned him to back off. She was not in the mood for his teasing, nor his incessant prying.

"You need to go home," he told her, "Nobody would fault you and you need to get out of here."

"I'm staying," she said in no uncertain tone; she was determined to finish this tonight.

Booth set the paperwork down on the floor and picked up one of her earlier drafts that had missed the can, unfolding it so that he could see what she had been doing.

"Temperance," he said softly, placing the paper back in the can and walking around to her side of the desk, "Bones you don't have to do this now."

"I disagree," she countered, ignoring the smoldering brown eyes that were boring into her own.

"He's not even out of the hospital, Bones," Booth said calmly, rubbing her upper forearm, "Go home and rest for tonight, Bones."

"You are not my caretaker," she told him.

"Let me be your friend," he said.

"Look, Seeley Booth," she snapped as she scrambled for emotional equilibrium, "You may have miraculously 'risen' from the dead, but don't think that means you can barge in here after two weeks and start running my life again! I managed survive that long without you and I can survive again," she knew she might be hurting his feelings at this juncture , but she didn't care, "My world does not revolve around a single person, Booth- no person's life ever should. Because when that happens, it never ends well, do you understand, Booth? It never does! I survived your supposed death and I will survive this as well.

"I will," she repeated again, more softly to herself, "I _will_."

A pair of strong arms slipped around her and she fell instinctively on his chest. She hated that he was always there to see her at her lowest, and yet not one time had he criticized or mocked her- which was most likely why she allowed him to continue. Tears coursed down her face and soaked his shirt, but she was beyond her ability to stop herself.

"You are one of the strongest women I know, Bones, and you will survive this," he spoke into her hair, "But you won't heal tonight and you can't do it alone."

She nodded, sniffed, and disengaged herself from him before he could let go of her. She didn't think she could handle any sort of dismissal right now. He helped her gather her things and get into her jacket. He winced when he picked up her bag and she was reminded that he was still recovering from his injury.

"I'll take that," she told him gently, "And your briefcase as well."

He smiled and accepted her help without complaint.

"You know," he said as they walked out of the Jeffersonian toward his car, "Maybe you shouldn't advertise for a replacement at all."

She lifted a questioning eyebrow and waited for him to expound.

"I mean," he went on, "You're always talking about how you never know what to do with all of your grad students to further their practical experience levels- or something squinty like that- so why not use them? Then you can pick the one you like the most as the replacement- not that anyone could replace Zack, but- well, you know what I mean, right?"

She nodded, "The idea has merit," especially since it did not require her to form an emotional attachment right away to any one person, "I shall take it under consideration."

"It'll be like a jelly of the month club, and I'll help you pick your favorite in the end," he grinned broadly.

She laughed as they pulled into her apartment complex's parking lot- his colorful and often confusing analogies were something she had missed the last two weeks.

"And in order to give the students a more full experience," she decided suddenly, seeing a solution for the new discomfort she felt in coming to the lab every day and not having Zack there, "I shall leave them to handle most of the forensics work so that I can spend more time aiding you in the field."

"Sure Bones," he said, and she could tell he saw right through her ruse, "You do that for as long as you need to."

"Booth," she turned to him abruptly, as they reached her apartment door, "I _am_ thankful that you weren't dead after all."

"I know," he smiled.

"Thank you," she told him, letting her eyes convey what her words could not.

He smiled again, touched his forehead as if tipping an invisible cap to her, and left.

"See ya tomorrow, Bones," he called over his shoulder.


	37. In the Storm

In the Storm

Raw power crackled around the woman as she watched the pyrotechnics show that was taking place in front of her. She loved storms- had ever since she was a child. The wind and near horizontal rain did not bother her, she simply let it engulf her as it whipped and whirled its way around her building.

She was low enough not to be in fear of a lightning strike, yet high enough so that the electricity made the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. A part of her knew exactly what caused the discharges, and yet it never ceased to thrill her, nor did knowing its source make it seem any less _real_ to her. Quite the opposite, in fact, was true, for she found that here her calling as a scientist was renewed every time.

The woman closed her eyes and felt more than heard the rumble of thunder as it reverberated throughout her thoracic cavity. The ground seemed to rumble as sound waves were displaced. Opening her eyes once again, she was just in time to watch as new bolts of lightning arced across the night sky, once again filling the air with raw electricity and she smiled at the sight of it all.

The door behind her slid open and she jumped in tandem with another crash of thunder.

"What the hell are you doing out in this?" the familiar voice questioned her, moving in front of her to shield her from the rain.

"I'm perfectly safe," she countered, trying unsuccessfully to move around him on the small balcony.

"You're perfectly nuts," he said incredulously, "I've been standing at your door knocking for the past half hour, Bones! And you didn't pick up you cell or your home phone either."

"It's unsafe to use any electronic devices during an electrical storm," she pointed out, "And obviously you found your way in,"

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," he whined, "And then I find you out here!"

"It's nearly over," she told him, feeling the shift in the barometric pressure as the storm moved on to its next location.

He moved, finally, to stand beside her and they watched the storm move further and further away with each gust of wind. The rain was dying down as well and she let out a sigh, sad to see it come to an end once more. She chuckled as her stalwart partner jumped at the last, loud thunderclap.

"You're nuts," he told her again, ushering her inside with his hand on the small of her back.

"I'm a scientist," she told him, before smirking at him, "And _you_ are afraid of thunder."

"Am not," he protested, clearly lying.

"It's just noise, Booth," she told him, "Brought about by-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he cut her off, "I saw 'Mr. Wizard' too, ya know."

"That was one of my favorite television programs," she said wistfully, recalling the memories of watching it with her father.

"Why do I not doubt that?" he asked, and she was fairly sure he was being facetious.

She left him for a moment to change into dry clothes, and brought him a towel to dry off with as well. He thanked her, and handed her a box of Wong Foo's as they settled onto her couch. There was paperwork to be done of course, which is why he had come, but for now they simply enjoyed the food along with each other's company.

They bickered and bantered from one topic to the next when suddenly there was a moment- just as they'd finished eating but before they began the paperwork- when their eyes connected. It was a powerful one- as fully charged as the storm she had just witnessed- one that spoke volumes without uttering a word. It spoke of the mutual respect and trust that existed between them, along with their powerful friendship that transcended all rational explanation.

She shivered, feeling as much alive as she had out in the storm on her balcony. Angela would have called it love, but this was far beyond that- it was a relationship. She wasn't sure what kind it was, nor how to fully define it, but she knew her role in it by now and found that she was comfortable. Suffice it to say it was a friendship of the deepest kind and she knew instinctively that she would never know its equal in her lifetime.

Which was why she, at least, clung to the line he had drawn with all of her might. She had lived once without him before and she knew she could never do that again. She needed his friendship more than anything else and as their gaze waned in intensity she wondered if he felt the same.

"Well," he broke the moment with his ever-cheery voice, "Might as well get started on this stuff. It's not like it's going to do itself."

And so they did.


	38. Seeing Red

Seeing Red

Dr. Temperance Brennan was hard at work when her office door was flung open abruptly. Frowning, she looked up to give her partner a piece of her mind for once again intruding on her space, then softened her gaze as she realized that her intruder was not, in fact, Seeley Booth.

"Hey, Dr. Bones!" Parker Booth smiled, entering the office and plopping down on her couch, "My dad called and said he was gonna be late picking me up from science club so your dad said I could come up here and hang out."

She opened her mouth, trying to find a polite way to tell the boy that bursting in on another person was rude, when once again, her office was intruded upon.

"Hi, Baby Girl," Max Keenan's own version of a charm smile was in full force, "Have you seen Parker? I was going to bring him up and see if you could watch him while he waited for Booth, but he took off."

She said nothing, but gave him a reproving look and pointed over to her couch. Parker, on hearing his name, peeked around the couch and waved, oblivious to the irritation that was mounting in the room. Max waved back and Brennan sighed, accepting that she now had no choice in the matter and once again questioning why she had allowed her father to retain his position at the Jeffersonian.

"Alright," Max said, "Well, I told Russ and Amy I'd go over and watch the kids so they can get out tonight, so I'm going to hit the road."

The three of them exchanged goodbyes. Max left and Parker settled back on her couch with a graphic novel that he had retrieved from his backpack. Curious about her father's reference to the time she glanced at her clock for the first time in hours.

"Parker," she called, after realizing it was nearly seven o'clock at night, "Why was your class held so late tonight?"

Parker popped his head up from his book and looked over at her, an excited gleam coming to his eyes, "We were looking at the moon tonight up on the roof. Did you know that sometimes, when the moon looks huge, it's just an optimal illusion?"

"An optical illusion, you mean?" she corrected gently.

"Yeah, an optimal illusion, like I said," he nodded, then continued, "And tonight's optimal illusion was really cool 'cause the moon was red!"

"Indeed?" she tried to hide a smile, deciding against correcting the boy a second time.

"Uh huh," Parker's head reminded her of the bobble-head bobby that Booth had received during their time in London, "Your daddy told us that it's red 'cause of all the pollution in the air. We're studying light waves and he said that when there's lots of pollution then all the other waves get blocked and only the red ones come through, so the moon looks red."

Brennan smiled at Parker's scientific account. Though simplistic, it was accurate, and an odd feeling of pride swept over her, knowing that her father had been the one who had taught Parker so well.

"Dr. Bones," Parker asked, abandoning his graphic novel on the couch and moving to sit in the seat directly across from her, "How come pollution is so bad if it makes the moon look so cool?"

She was just about to answer him when a third person burst through her office door unannounced. This time, it was the elder Booth, and for the third time she found herself on the receiving end of a charm smile. She rolled her eyes in response and he shot back with a look of mock hurt, his eyes teasing her all the while.

"Dinner time!" Booth announced, "Grab your stuff, Bub, while I help Bones get hers."

"Who said I was going to dinner with you?" she asked, once again feeling affronted.

"Have you eaten yet?" he countered, coming around to her side of the desk, "And by that I mean dinner; lunch doesn't count and neither do those crappy protien bars you snack on."

She frowned at him as he began loading her paperwork into her bag. When he was done, he shouldered the bag and held out her coat to her. The only thing that kept her from launching a verbal tirade at his presumptive behavior was Parker's presence, though she communicated as much as she could to Booth with her eyes. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, but let her know that he could be just as obstinate as she.

They ended up eating at the diner, where their table allowed them a perfect prospect of the moon, which no longer appeared large, though it retained its reddish hue. Parker spent the meal regaling Booth with all of the facts he had obtained during his science club. This had led to a healthy discussion on pollution and its effects on the atmosphere. She was quite surprised to find that she and Booth agreed for the most part on their outlook on the environment, though when she suggested that he should switch to a hybrid vehicle such as the Highlander that she now drove, they bickered.

It was nine o'clock when Booth pulled into the parking lot at her apartment to drop her off. Parker was sleeping soundly in the backseat, preventing Booth from escorting her to her door as she knew he preferred. He did, however, step out of the car and retrieved her bag from the trunk.

"Thanks again for letting Max stay on," he said, handing her the bag.

She shrugged, unsure of the appropriate response, "Parker seems to have gleaned a good bit of information from it."

"Yeah, I've never seen him so excited about science," his pride was evident and he grinned suddenly, "Though I'm blaming you if he turns into a squint."

She could tell from his expression that he wasn't serious, so she grinned in return. For a long moment they stood adjacent to one another, gazing up at the reddish moon.

"Good night," she said finally.

"Good night, Bones," he replied quietly, "See you tomorrow."

She nodded and began making her way up to her apartment. As she settled into bed she recalled Parker's excitement and Booth's pride in his son's accomplishments and decided that she had indeed made the right decision as far as her father was concerned. Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was that the frustration she had felt earlier had fully dissipated as the night progressed. It had been a good night after all.


	39. Words

Words

Temperance Brennan had always been addicted to words. According to her father, she had been speaking in full sentences by the time she was eighteen months old, and once she'd started, he'd claimed, she'd not shut up. That had changed drastically, however, when she discovered the written word.

She could not recall at what point the twenty-six symbols that comprised the English language coalesced into phonetic sounds, the sounds into words, words into sentences, and sentences to paragraphs, but she had become lost in them ever since. From a very young age she could remember sitting on her mother's lap, contentment wrapping around her like a warm blanket as stories of wonder and magic poured forth from the pages.

There had been no shortage of books in the Brennan household. Where her father was forever reading scientific journals and textbooks, her mother was an aficionado of the classics. Long before high school, Temperance had wrestled the hard truths of slavery with Huckleberry Finn, plumbed the depths of London's poverty with Oliver Twist, and seen the world in eighty days with Phileas Fog. After her parents' disappearance she resonated strongly with Hester Prynne, and felt her own brand was an "F" for foster child- a label that followed her wherever she went.

While fiction dominated her childhood reading, non-fiction was the chosen material of her later adolescent and adult years. Every so often she would indulge her imagination, but by and large she found that fiction left her disillusioned, whereas science books helped her make sense of the world around her.

Compared to the foster system, college had been nothing short of paradise, and she shared none of her fellow students' misgivings on the endless amount of reading that was assigned to them. She relished all of the research papers as well, taking pride in the fact that she could articulate her findings in a clear and sensible fashion.

She enjoyed the work so much that she began writing papers for some of the scholarly journals she subscribed to while she was still working on her Master's degree. By the time she had her doctorate, her number of published works in her field far outweighed all of the rejection notices she had received when she'd first started.

And so it was no surprise that one evening, at the end of a long day, Dr. Temperance Brennan sat down at her computer and had an idea. Perhaps there were others, like her, who enjoyed reading fictional accounts of factual occurrences. Surely in the academic community there were, and perhaps by recounting some of the experiences she had in an accepted medium, she could properly educate the public as well. If not, it would still give her a chance to indulge in her childhood love of fiction without sacrificing her intelligence in the process.

She opened a blank document and began to type: _Dr. Kathy Reichs gazed into the bare orbital cavities of the skull in front of her, determined to coax out its story and find the killer before time ran out._


	40. Solitude

Solitude

Seeley Booth was a man who, though he appeared friendly and outgoing on the outside, enjoyed being alone.

It started in elementary school. He sat at his desk quietly, played on the playground alone, and prayed all the while that no one would see or ask about the bruises that covered his body. In middle school, he started playing sports- which helped explain the bruises- and made a few friends, but still, he kept mostly to himself.

High school had been a turning point. He was good at sports and somehow became part of the 'in' crowd. It was there that he had honed his charm smile- using it on teachers, coaches, and especially the girls. He dated off and on, and hung out with the guys on the weekend, but he still preferred solitude to a crowd. Alone in his room, or in the tree house that he and his grandpa had built, he could drop the façade and forget, for a time, that his home life was one big pile of crap.

The Rangers had been great. He felt like he belonged for the first time in his life. From the very beginning he'd taken on the role of protector and it felt good to be useful. Reality had set in quickly once they were deployed into actual combat for the first time and he'd learned not to get too close to anyone, because the next day they might not be there.

Later, he'd gone in for sniper training so that he could work alone. He could sit for days at a time without seeing or talking to a single person and it didn't bother him one bit. He had guys under him, but again, he did his best not to get close. That had backfired on him with Teddy, though, and over a decade would pass before he could shake the load of that guilt.

During the murky years that he'd spent alternately working on his degree and gambling away his life he'd made little effort to win friends and influence people. Finally he decided to stop riding on the edge and he applied for a job with the FBI.

For the first several years of his career, he'd been single-minded in his goal to be the top agent in his field. He'd joined the local hockey league to bleed off the stress of the job and slowly but surely began making his way up the ladder. He used the same tactics he had in high school and quickly became one of the most well-liked guys at the Bureau.

Parker had come in the middle of all of that and for the first time since he and Jared would huddle hidden under his covers at night from their father's drunken wrath, he felt a true connection. It killed him when Rebecca wouldn't marry him, and when she'd get in her snits and ban him from seeing their son, but they worked things out eventually.

And then had come the fateful day that he had been handed a case he couldn't solve. Remains had been found, so desiccated that only a skeleton remained, and the FBI techs had been stymied. Deputy Director Cullen had reminded him that the FBI had worked in the past with consultants from the Jeffersonian Institute and had given Booth the number to call. The guys in the bullpen had wished him luck, and told him to beware the lead squint. Apparently she was cold, rude, and unwilling to put up with anyone she deemed as being beneath her- which was pretty much anyone.

Ratcheting up his charm smile to its highest notch, he had gone to Dr. Brennan, plopped the x-rays on her desk, and asked for her opinion. She'd lifted one of her long eyebrows and proceeded to inform him that she did not work for the FBI and he would have to wait until she could clear time for his case in her schedule. They'd fought and he'd stormed out, not realizing until he got back to his office that he'd left the file on her desk.

A week later the file had been returned along with a detailed analysis of its contents. He couldn't believe it, but she'd helped him crack the case. He'd spent the next several months trying to get a hold of her for help on some more cases, and once he figured out where she had gone and when she was coming back he'd worked out a plan.

Of course she'd been ticked and rightly so, but she'd agreed to help out so the ends justified the means. What he hadn't banked on was how much she'd enjoy herself and the lengths that she was willing to go to get what she wanted. The woman was beautiful, tenacious, not to mention extremely intelligent, and enough to drive a sane man mad.

So he had agreed and- for better or for worse- the man who'd lived a solitary life became something he'd never thought he would: a partner.


	41. Breaking the Rules

Breaking the Rules

Temperance Brennan lay heaving in her bed and contemplated the man sleeping beside her. She wasn't sure what had first attracted her to him. Perhaps it was the way he challenged her to think as no one else had before. She was a recognized genius so to be challenged was something rare and highly valued. His good looks and natural charisma didn't hurt, either- though those she identified as her body's reaction to his pheromones.

She definitely enjoyed their verbal sparring sessions. In their professional setting, they fought to be sure that they were functioning at their highest level. He was her biggest champion as well as her biggest critic, and she appreciated both. In the bedroom, the sparring had turned into a sort of verbal foreplay; a competition to see who could devise the most worthy double entendre to use against the other. She thrived on competition, because in her mind there was no use doing something if you were not going to be the best.

And so, after an eternities' worth of shy looks, stolen moments, and charged conversations, they had come together. The passion that had resulted was as heated as she had anticipated and he had proved to be an excellent lover.

She watched, amused, as he opened first one eye and then the next. His gaze strayed over her body and he grinned from ear to ear.

"Now there's a sight I'll not tire of anytime soon," he commented, "I think you just moved to the head of the class."

"Hmm," she smiled playfully, "I'm fairly sure that if our colleagues discovered our relationship both of our careers would be in jeopardy."

"You've got to live a little, Tempe," he smiled at her, "There's more to life than science."

She frowned inwardly, her mind automatically developing three separate arguments that could be used to refute that statement, but instead she stood up and began dressing.

"Leaving so soon?" he pouted.

"It would not be wise for me to be discovered here," she pointed out, slipping into her pants.

"So when can I see you next?" he wanted to know.

"Thursday," she smiled demurely, "I believe I have a class that day, Professor Stires."

"I'll see you then, Ms. Brennan," he played along, "And perhaps I can find an extracurricular activity for you for that day as well."

"Perhaps," she said coyly and left his apartment.

On her way back to student housing she mused briefly about what her future relationship with Michael would be once she finally finished her graduate work and defended her dissertation, then just as quickly dismissed those thoughts. Life so far had taught her that few relationships are permanent, so she forced herself to focus her mind on her coming projects and exams.

Forensic anthropology: _that_ was her future- something permanent that she could rely on- and she wasn't about to let anything, or anyone, stand in her way.


	42. Stripes

Stripes

Seeley Booth leaned back on his ratty apartment couch, looked at the manual in front of him, and wondered how in the world he was going to cope. For over a year now he had been jumping through the hoops to join the FBI and now that he was finally there, he was realizing exactly what that would entail. Oh sure, he'd get to puzzle out crimes and eventually put away the bad guy, but like all things it came with a price.

He sighed heavily and stared again at the manual- specifically the pages that outlined the dress code that the government had deemed necessary for all of its field agents: suits. Sure, he'd worn a uniform in his Ranger days and had even donned the fancy one when they'd made him; but the uniform was tied to his pride and had always had a positive effect of the ladies so he'd never balked too much.

His eyes scanned the document once more, looking for any loopholes he could find. The longer he tried picturing himself in a suit day after day, the more depressed he became. Suits were for people who were rigid, old, or worse- rich. At that thought he tried desperately not to think how much this new job was going to cost him just to meet the dress code. He wanted to be the best and no way the best showed up at a crime scene in a suit from Wal-Mart.

Suits: dress shirt, dress pants, jacket, tie, the whole enchilada. Practically the only thing the rules didn't tell you was whether you had to pick boxers or briefs. He also noticed that socks weren't on the list either and all of a sudden he grinned.

Nearly running to his dresser he flung open the top drawer and looked in. There, mixed in with all of his cartoon boxers and athletic socks were a pair of maroon and black striped socks that he had gotten as a gag gift from Jared last Christmas. The things were heinous looking, but at least he wouldn't look like some cookie-cutter government type.

From his sock drawer he moved to his closet, searching for anything else that would technically fall under the dress code but help him stand out. By the time he'd finished, he'd fished out three more pairs of crazy socks, two skinny ties that looked nothing like anything he'd seen on any of the other agents, and the piece de resistance- a belt buckle that he had gotten on a whim at Spencer's.

He picked out his best suit, new add-ons included, and looked at himself in the mirror. Ok, maybe he'd wait 'til he was a little more established to wear the belt buckle, but still, the rest looked great.

_Now that_, he thought to himself, _Puts the 'special' in Special Agent._


	43. Rainbow

Rainbow

Dr. Temperance Brennan was surrounded by paperwork. This was nothing new, of course, however it did not mean that she willingly acquiesced to it, but rather grudgingly accepted it as a requirement to continue doing the work that she loved. Booth called it a "necessary evil" and while she was reluctant to assign the term evil to it, she was willing to admit that it grossly interfered with what little free time she had.

Several hours later, she rubbed her weary eyes and looked up at the clock. Midnight. She wondered why Booth hadn't come and chased her out hours ago, then remembered that this was Booth's weekend with Parker. Eyeing the remaining stack- which was considerably smaller than the one she had started out with- she decided that the remainder of the work could be done from her apartment. Still, she _was_ getting the work done quickly and efficiently here, and she contemplated staying until the work was complete so that her weekend would be free.

It was her stomach that ended the internal debate as its rumblings filled the silent office, reminding her that it had been a full twelve hours since she had last eaten. She half-heartedly rummaged around for a protein bar in her desk but found nothing. Resignedly, she packed up her belongings, locked her office, and headed out to the parking garage.

On her way home, she thought about the case that had led to all of the paperwork. This was their second case in recent months in which the killer turned out to be a minor. It still disturbed her that Caroline Julian had chosen _not_ to prosecute Alexa King as an adult. The girl- no matter what her age- had killed Calvin Warren deliberately and should be punished, not merely reprimanded and sent back to her life of privilege. It also repulsed her that the mother, Elsbeth King, had aided in the cover-up attempt, though she, at least, would be suitably punished for the offense.

As children and young adolescents, she and Russ had been constantly reminded that their actions were their own and that, should they choose poorly, they would be forced to face the consequences themselves. As an adult she now had trouble reconciling the values that her parents had instilled into them with the fact that she now knew that they were career criminals; however, as a young person the lessons had seemed fair and rational.

Sighing, she pulled into her parking space and shouldered her bag. Thinking about the case and her values, she pondered her father's role in the ordeal. She still was not pleased that Cam had hired him in the first place- and she was definitely still unsure what she thought about the prospect of seeing him on a regular basis- nevertheless, his experiment suggestions _had_ proved useful in solving the case. It was also difficult for her to dismiss the obvious enjoyment that he had found in teaching children again.

Turning her key in her lock and stepping into her apartment, she admitted to herself that her father was a very effective teacher and his being at the Jeffersonian would allow children like Parker Booth to receive enrichment and inspiration in the scientific disciplines that they otherwise might not. She supposed if Alexa King was allowed to return to her exclusive education, it was logical to extend a second chance to her father.

Turning on the lights in her kitchen, she gasped. A mobile made of small prisms hung from the kitchen ceiling, creating small rainbows that danced along the walls and countertops as well as the floor. On the counter was a note that simply said "Thanks" written in Max Keenan's distinct handwriting. She smiled in spite of her shock, recalling all of the rainbows that she and her father had chased throughout her childhood.

Refraction, she recalled, involved a changing of direction from one medium to another of a different density. Perhaps by her allowing her father to remain at the Jeffersonian, she was helping him change the direction of his life as well.


	44. Give Up

Give Up

From the moment you were born, there has always been a specific plan for your life. Like a prince, you are groomed for the responsibilities that you will one day oversee and are introduced to the people who will help you retain and grow the power that will be granted to you. Your parents are active, but not present in your life, having abdicated their responsibilities to nannies, tutors, and that ridiculously expensive boarding school.

At first, you accept it because you know nothing different, but as you grow older you discover that you have hobbies and interests of your own outside of the family business. The first time you entertain thoughts of doing something other than what you have always been told you will do you dismiss it offhand as a fantasy that will never be. The older you become, however, the more you wish you were just a regular kid from a regular family, until one day you decide that no matter who they wish you were there is only one person that you are.

And so you begin, slowly at first, to pursue a career that you love. You use the money that has never been an obstacle to fund your voracious, scholastic appetite. Your parents pretend to be proud of your accomplishments, but even after you've earned your first Master's degree they insist to their friends that it is a phase you will outgrow eventually.

They never live to see you earn a doctorate and for a fleeting moment you are worried that everything you have worked so hard to achieve will be buried alive under the new responsibilities you must bear- sole heir to a life of fortune and exclusivity that you have never really wanted, but have anyway.

You try for a few years to fit in, but it never fits right and you know it never will. So the day that you see that one of the institutions you help to fund is looking for an entomologist, you jump at the opportunity to do what you love and apply. To your great surprise, not only do they accept your application and hire you, they seem to have no idea who you truly are and you find it refreshing.

You give up the world of fame and fortune for bugs and slime and just as Bruce Wayne donned his armored bodysuit, you don you lab coat and embrace your alter ego. No longer are you Jacob Stanley Hodgins of the Cantilever Group; you are Dr. Jack Hodgins, conspiracy theorist and bug-man extraordinaire- and that's exactly the way you like it.


	45. I Can't

I Can't

Russ Brennan sat on his bed in his room, feeling as if the weight of the world had come to rest solely on his shoulders. In the room beside him, he knew his little sister was sleeping- but only after hours spent crying in his arms. Their parents were gone and it was starting to look like they were not coming back any time soon.

Tempe, always the optimist, was sure that they would, but even her faith was beginning to wane as time moved on. She had asked him for an explanation, but he couldn't give her one- or rather, the one he could give her he had sworn never to tell anyone. He sighed. How much of their disappearance had to do with Max, Ruth, Kyle, and Joy Keenan?

_No_, he told himself sternly, _We are Brennans now._ As he had as a child, he began repeating that name like a mantra: _Russ Brennan, Russ Brennan, Russ Brennan…_

He had promised his father back then that he would keep his sister safe and he had meant it. But now, just barely an adult himself, he wondered how in the world he was supposed to care for a fifteen year old kid.

He was trying his best. Christmas had been a complete disaster and he began to tell himself that his friends were right. Tempe was a really great, genius kid who deserved more than her dumb brother who constantly skated on the edge of trouble. Foster care would be better for her- would give her the home that he couldn't, maybe even a chance to go to college and make something of herself. She deserved that much.

And so he left.


	46. Eyes

Eyes

It was her eyes, he thought, that first drew her to him. An intoxicating blend of gray and blue that changed as mercurially as her moods. You could see her drive and determination housed in those eyes and knew that once her steely resolve reached them, nothing would stand in her way.

He laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, musing over the emotions that he'd seen in those eyes and what they had done to him. Was it her anger or her intelligence that stirred him more?

Her intelligence was certainly an attractive feature- even though he'd tended toward vapid blondes in the past. He'd found that he'd enjoyed challenging that intelligence; pushing it the extra mile and watching her eyes as the rapidly moving wheels in her mind worked out a solution far faster than most people could form one thought. It turned him on in a way that he could neither comprehend nor control.

Her anger, on the other hand, stirred a different part of him. When she was in control, he anger manifested itself as ire wrapped in cool logic. She could be calculating, but a person always knew exactly where they stood with her. Very few things shook that control, but he'd seen it happen and therein lay his true fascination with her. Because once she lost control- truly lost it- her actions were controlled by her impulses, and she became primal and violent. And her eyes- they began revealing how she truly _felt_ about a situation, not simply how she perceived it.

Sitting up, he shook the ache out of his wrist and went over to the small table that was afforded him. The article was there- a perfect insight into the people she surrounded herself with- and his mind began whirring with possibilities. If his timing was precise and if he could accurately gauge the intensity with which each member of her vaunted "team" would react, then he could see it all: the intelligence, the cool logic, and most especially, the violent impulsivity.

Yes, Epps thought, he would make her see what she stirred in him. Make the bloodlust stir in her as it did in him. Make her see that as diametrically opposed to him as she claimed she was, they were alike when stripped to their core natures. And if he brought down all of those she held closest in the process- so much the better.


	47. Innocence

Innocence

"Angela," Dr. Temperance Brennan entered her friend's office with a slight tinge of trepidation, "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Sweetie," she gestured for Brennan to take a seat, "What's up?"

"Well," Brennan hesitated, "If you are inquiring as to what is above us, the answer would be ceiling tiles and light fixtures, however; I sense that you may be passively asking me what the nature of my visit is-"

"Yeah," Angela smiled, cutting her off gently, "Let's go with the passive bit."

Brennan sighed heavily, "I have a question that I have been seeking the answer to and I require your assistance as my internet searches have yielded virtually nothing on the topic."

"Hit me with it."

"Again, I sense you are being metaphorical so I will simply pose the question to you with no further ado: What information can you give me in regards to guy hugs?"

"Guy hugs?" Angela's eyebrow rose along with the tone of her voice.

"Yes," she nodded, "Booth and I have been engaging in them and I wish to know more about the subject, however, my research has yielded me very little valid information. I know that homosexual men, as well as men in European countries, exchange hugs among other males, but Booth is neither homosexual nor European."

"Okay," Angela was doing her best not to grin like a maniac, "Back up to where you and Booth were hugging and give me some context clues this time."

"Our first one was just after my failed relationship with Will Hastings ended," Brennan said cautiously.

"The guy who decapitated his own brother? That gave me the willies, no offense."

"None taken," Brennan shrugged, "I was distressed as well."

"And Booth gave you a hug?"

"He claimed it was a guy hug and that I should simply accept it, so I did," a cloud passed in front of her face, "Was I incorrect to do so? Did that cross the line?"

"I'm not sure what 'line' you're talking about, Bren," Angela answered, "But nah. It sounds like the guy was just trying to cheer you up."

"Hmm," she took in the assessment, "Yes, each of our guy hugs has come at a moment of personal distress and Booth did say that if he was ever scared, I could embrace him as well. Though I am still concerned that our behavior was unprofessional."

"Bren, is Booth your friend?" Angela decided it was time to be a little bit more direct, though she didn't want to scare her friend off.

"Yes," the forensic anthropologist dragged the word out as if unsure what her friend was leading up to.

"And friends hug friends, right?"

"I suppose so, yes," Brennan nodded slowly.

"So don't sweat it, Sweetie," Angela smiled, "Besides, maybe Booth needs an excuse to be comforted too, right?"

"Right," the cloud was gone, replaced by the look Brennan always got when she thought she'd finally caught onto something, "Yes, Ange, I believe you may be correct that he was seeking comfort as well. His ego would not allow for him to phrase the request in such a way, however, by appealing to my need for comfort he alleviated that pressure."

"Glad we figured that out," the artist inwardly sighed in relief, feeling like she'd dodged a bullet, "Though I wouldn't let Booth in on your findings."

"True," Brennan nodded, an air of self-confidence about her, "I have noted in the past that men of Booth's 'tough guy' nature are rather sentimental and I would not wish to offend him or in any way harm our partnership."

"Fat chance," Angela muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" Brennan's head shot up.

"I said fine choice," the artist lied.

"Thank you," Brennan answered sincerely, "And thank you also for the advice, Angela. You are a true friend indeed."

With that, the doctor took her leave, heading in the direction of her own office. Once she was out of sight, Angela silently let loose the laughter she had been holding back. She got back to her own work, shaking her head.

"Hey, Angela," a deep male voice cut into her musings a few minutes later, "You seen Bones around?"

"Guy hugs?" she smirked and had the satisfaction of seeing him stop dead in his tracks.

"Er, yeah, well," he said haltingly, running his hand around the back of his neck- which was growing redder by the second.

"Hey, look," Angela held her hands up, grinning, "I covered for you big time, alright, so don't worry your sexy little behind off. But," she shook a warning finger at him playfully, "You start planting 'guy kisses' on her, and you are totally on your own!"


	48. Blood

Blood

Dr. Temperance Brennan sighed as she entered her apartment, immediately freeing her feet from the restrictive constraint of her shoes. Though rationally she knew that today had contained the same twenty-four hours that all days consisted of, those hours had been tumultuous, making the day seem longer than it truly was.

She was alone: again. Left handcuffed to a bench, she had once more been forced to watch as the only living relatives she knew drove away. Booth had been there for her, of course, and his words to her as they stood outside the Royal Diner truly had helped ease some of the pain. The 'squints' as Booth had so affectionately nicknamed them- along with Booth himself- were her other family; one that she trusted to be there for her far beyond what her biological family had.

All of them had enjoyed the celebratory meal. Not a word had been spoken about what had occurred in Brennan's personal life over the past twenty-four hours, and toward the end, she had found herself able to relax. She was extremely proud of her protégé Zack. He had come far and it pleased her to see him earn not only his doctorate, but also his place on the forensics team. Replacing him would have been impossible and she was certain he could acquire the skill set necessary to become an effective expert witness.

A half-smile crossed her lips as she recalled how Zack's carriage had straightened and his confidence buoyed after Booth had done as she had asked and clapped Zack on the shoulder with an open palm. She knew that Booth had no idea why she had asked him to do such a thing, but it pleased her that he had done so regardless.

The smile died as she turned her light on, the harshness of her reality crashing over her with the force of a tidal wave. Her eyes took in the crimson pool and she involuntarily shuddered. A very irrational part of her mind had hoped that it would be gone by the time she arrived home, but it was not to be.

It would not have surprised her at all to find that Booth had ordered a forensic cleaning team over to clean up after they had finished gathering all of the necessary evidence. She knew that a team had been here taking photos and samples, but it had never occurred to her that it would be her responsibility to remove the mess.

Mechanically, she moved around the pool to where her cleaning supplies were kept. She supposed she should be fortunate that the mess was on neither a porous surface nor one of her expensive, oriental carpets. It was also good that she worked around bodily fluids on a daily basis and didn't weaken at the sight of blood.

Armed with paper towels and disinfectant, she knelt, and began methodically restoring her floor to its original state. She paused partway through; remembering when she thought that this was Russ' blood and her body had automatically turned itself into Booth's waiting arms. That had frustrated her to no small end. The man had a knack for being present at her lowest times and she hated that.

A knock sounded at her door and even without recognizing its unique cadence she knew it could only be one person.

"Come in, Booth," she sighed, resigned to the fact that if she did not invite him in, he would barge in anyway, "The door is unlocked."

"Tsk, tsk, Bones," he chided, opening the door with one hand while balancing an armload of food and cleaning supplies with the other.

Silently, she stood, surprised that he had brought cleaning supplies, and together they surveyed the floor. A look passed between them and she knew that he was offering to help, but wouldn't push her into discussing anything she didn't wish. She nodded her thanks, relieving him of the food as he set the cleaning things on the floor and removed his jacket.

Side by side, they knelt and began cleaning. The supplies he'd brought had come from the FBI and were far more effective at completing the task than her household ones had been. When she could no longer see any evidence of the crime her father had committed, they stood up and moved to the Thai food. Again, few words were exchanged between them, but it felt good to stave off the loneliness that had engulfed her when she had first come back.

Finally, well past midnight, Booth told her that he needed to be going. She knew that tomorrow was Saturday and Booth would be taking Parker to the park as he always did. She bid him goodnight and thanked him. He offered her a lopsided grin, saying nothing as he exited her front door with a small wave.

She closed the door, threw out the last remainders from dinner, turned off her lights, and headed to bed. Only when she was safely ensconced in her covers did she allow the magnitude of the emotions that she had been carefully restraining all day to break free. One family had been lost, another gained and even as she drifted off to sleep she was not sure which prospect was harder for her to come to terms with.


	49. Broken Pieces

**I haven't forgotten about this project, but real life keeps interfering. My goal is to be done with all of the rest of the themes by mid-May. We have a new little one coming then, so I'm determined to plow through the rest and do this thing.**

**As always, reviews are welcomed with open arms!**

**Gum**

* * *

Broken Pieces

Booth looked at his partner beside him, still chained to the park bench with his handcuffs. She wasn't crying, nor did her face show any signs of distress over what had just taken place. Instead, she looked blankly at the dirt road as the dust cloud settled from where her family had just abandoned her for the second time in her life. If anything, Booth thought, she looked resigned to the fact that she was alone again.

Well, time to remind her that she wasn't. he dug in his pocket for the key to the cuffs and freed her, letting his fingers linger just a few seconds necessary on her wrist. He opened his mouth to speak- and stopped as his phone rang in his pocket.

"Cherie," the hearty voice on the other end wasted no time with pleasantries, "You got any plans on returning my car that you just _had_ to have anytime soon? Or haven't you found that genius partner and her slippery father yet?"

"Uh," he looked apologetically over at Bones and shifted away for some privacy, "Bones is just fine, Caroline. Max gave us the slip though and took Russ with him."

A stream of profanities flew from the phone so rapidly and loudly that Bones raised an eyebrow from her perch on the bench.

"Look, Caroline," Booth cut in mid-stream, "We have the rest of the diary and a key to the safety deposit box with all of the rest of the evidence."

"Which doesn't mean a damn thing if Kirby is still in office," Caroline sighed heavily, "Look, we are going to have to take this to the Attorney General ourselves, _which_ is not going to be the best of times, _and_ it means I'm going to miss my hair appointment tonight."

He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say something, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Now, you just get your skinny FBI butt over here with my car and we'll get this over with," she ordered.

His stomach dropped, "Well- um- see, that's another thing…"

"What's another thing?" her voice dropped to a growl, "You are _not_ gonna tell me that my car was the getaway vehicle are you?"

"No, no," he said hurriedly, "They used a big truck for that. It's just… well… theysmashedyourcaronthewayout," he said in one long breath.

"Like a fender bender?" she grilled.

"Not quite," he winced.

He held the phone away from his ear as another string of profanities erupted from it. Eventually she calmed down and told him that she would call for a tow truck but that _he_ was going to have to deal with all of the paperwork and he was to get over to her office ASAP so that he could get his own car back. She would call him a cab too.

Muttering his thanks, he hung up and turned back to his waiting partner.

"Cab's coming, so's a tow truck," he told her, sitting heavily on the bench beside her.

She nodded, "So I heard. I take it Caroline is not pleased with this turn of events?"

"Eh," he shrugged, "She's all bluster and fuss but at the end of the day she's just glad we have to evidence so this whole mess can get cleared up."

She nodded mutely, retreating back into her shell and he cursed himself for bringing up the mess since her dad was smack dab in the middle of all of it. It was, fortunately, only a few minutes before the cab came and took them to her apartment. He stepped out to help her, signaling to the cabbie that he'd be right back. She sat still until he opened the car door and offered her his hand. Silently, she stood, nodding her thanks. He wasn't sure what to do next.

"Zack got his doctorate," she blurted out just as he was about to get back in the taxi, "Apparently, he wants to celebrate at the Diner. I- I'll be there tonight if you want to update me on what happens with the case."

He gave her a charm smile, waving the Bible that contained all the evidence, and made a promise that he hoped would make her feel wanted and appreciated, "I'll see you there, then, Bones. I'll see you there."


	50. Annoyance

Annoyance

He sat in the car, wondering how he'd ended up where he was and why he even bothered to think that he'd had a good idea.

Things had been going great that night. They'd each gone home after arresting the victim's sister-in-law and had decided to meet back at the bar for dinner. She came back looking fabulous and he had the luxury of being in jeans, a comfy shirt, and- most importantly- free from a tie. They'd gotten some drinks, shared a meal, and for once she hadn't given him too much grief about the tab.

And then, just when he was about to go and show her his big surprise, she'd upstaged him with one of her own. History had been made as she'd admitted that he was better than her at interrogation, though he'd assured her that she didn't lack empathy- she was just awkward.

Even now as he remembered her words, he smirked, remembering the rush of warm feelings that had come over him at her admission. She was growing as a person and he was there to get a front row seat and he was proud of her.

Which was probably why he'd allowed her- against his better judgment-to drive the car that Buddy had loaned to him for the night. He had warned her and practically begged her to take it easy, but had she listened to him? No!

So now he was stuck in this cab, in a rapidly growing traffic jam that _she_ had created, waiting in part to see if she could get herself out of it, but realistically knowing that he'd have to go bail her out eventually. When she'd first stalled, he'd been annoyed, then angry, then exasperated. They'd fought in the middle of the street and he'd stormed away and hopped in the cab for some peace and quiet. He was still not happy with her, but it'd given him a chance to cool down.

"Hey, pal," the cabbie's gruff voice jerked him out of his thoughts, "You gonna do us all a favor and get your girlfriend there out of the road, or sit here all night and rack up the meter?"

He looked out at the scene. Bones was back in the car, trying desperately to get into first gear and failing. She was going to trash the transmission at this rate and that would NOT make Buddy a happy man.

"Fine," he grumbled, "Just gimmie another minute."

"No skin off mine, man," the cabbie shrugged.

Letting out a long, deep breath, Booth leaned his head back against the back of the car and closed his eyes, mentally gearing himself up like a fighter right before he steps in the ring. This was not going to end pretty.

A knock on the window broke his newly made calm.

It was her. Forlorn and frustrated, she was holding out the key to him as a peace offering. He gave her a smile and a nod through the closed window, tossed the cabbie some money, and headed out.

"I believe this is one of those scenarios in which it would be best to defer to your expertise," was all she said.

He rolled his eyes, slung his arm around her shoulder, and led her back to the car. He opened the driver's side door and gestured for her to get it. She raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing as she brushed by him and took her seat. He closed her door gently and moved around to the other side and hopped in.

"Com'on, Bones," he said quietly,"Just go gently and you'll do fine."

Slowly, and with great caution, she pushed the clutch down, turned the car on, and moved into first. Instead of revving the engine and peeling out, she eased onto the gas until the gears caught. The car jerked a little, but they were moving and they kept moving until finally they were in the correct lane and not blocking the intersection.

"Thanks for not leaving me," she said as the jam began to clear.

"Never have, Bones," he said sincerely, the last of his annoyance seeping out, "Never will."


	51. Breathe Again

Breathe Again

They held hands, held their breath, and then touched the wires.

The only thing he was aware of was his throbbing head, which now matched his throbbing leg, though a throbbing head was better than a jellied one.

He opened one cautious eye, then the other.

Dr. B was digging for the surface, which they now both knew could not be far away. He moved to stand and help her, gasping as the leg pain stabbed through him afresh. Then, before he could figure out what was happening, she was rising above him to the surface like an angel to Heaven.

At first that confused him- and the shower of dirt that rained on him wasn't helping any- until he realized the implication. Booth, ever Brennan's savior whether she wanted to admit it or not, had gotten their message and Zack had deciphered it. And against all odds they had found them at the precise moment that the charge had blown them.

His revelation was cut short as Brennan cleared the hole, dumping all of the loose soil on top of him. If he didn't move quickly, he would drown in it. Slowly, with agonizing pain he began moving toward the sunshine that filtered in once she was moved out of the way.

He could see hands too, desperately digging, not realizing how much soil they were displacing onto him in the process. Finally, either they reached him or he reached them and he too began to rise to the surface, arms screaming as they were strained.

Then he was on his back and for a brief moment, he couldn't breathe, his airway still clogged from the soil. He coughed and spat and heaved in a breath of fresh air.

He squinted into the harsh sun, smiling at his rescuers and before he could utter a word _her_ lips were on his, filling him with new life and hope in a way that oxygen never could.


	52. Heaven

Heaven

From the moment he saw the look on her face, he'd known that something was wrong. Her words had confirmed it, and yet instead of being happy that she was single again, his heart had ached for her. So he'd begged off of work and offered to take her to the Diner. Coffee might not exactly be chicken soup, but it was good for the soul and he wanted to be there for her.

Hurrying, he'd caught up and they'd started talking. It was going well, he thought, and he was glad that he'd come after her. As he'd suspected she didn't really want to talk about what had just happened, but he listened to her anyway, figuring that if their roles were reversed she'd do the same for him. He was just congratulating himself for doing the right thing by her and not pressuring her into anything more than what she was willing to give him when she suddenly whirled around.

The next thing he knew, lips were crashing, hands roving, as she pulled him close. A part of him knew that this was all just reactionary- but he didn't care. This was something he'd been waiting for for what had seemed like an endless eternity and he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They'd just barely made it to the Egyptian exhibit before losing their clothes, though their lab coats had been shed somewhere along the way. As their bodies touched for the first time in months he gasped and drank deeper of the sweet nectar that was her mouth. She responded in kind and from there things went where they always had.

An hour later it was over. They had rested together, just enjoying the afterglow from their lovemaking. She'd gone on about moments and he'd assured her that he'd always be there for her. Then she'd gotten up, ready to go back to business as usual whether he was or not so he'd let her go. Even when they had been together he did not have what it took to stop her when he saw it was what she truly wanted.

Clutching the lost earring in his palm he sighed, "You've got it bad, Jack."

Maybe so, but Angela was his Heaven and today had given him hope that one day she would come back to him, and all would be right in his world once more.


	53. All That I Have

All That I Have

Eighteen year-old Temperance Brennan surveyed the small room that would be hers for the next several months. It wasn't much bigger than the coat closet in her room at the last foster home she had stayed at, but given the sheer volume of on-campus students, she was pleased not to have the inconvenience of a roommate. Had her goals been weighted more toward the social aspects rather than academic pursuits of college she might have been less pleased, but they were not, and she could not think of any other space that she would rather occupy for the duration.

She laid all of her belongings out on the bed, trying to determine where the best location for each item would be. Roughly sixty percent of her worldly goods were books- both those that she had brought with her from foster home to foster home over the last three years, as well as brand new ones that she had needed to purchase for her classes. Reverently, she placed the older ones on the provided shelf, as if each one were a dear friend. That done, she took several minutes to page through each of her new books, wondering what treasures each had in store for her in the coming semester.

Next came her clothing. The room was so small that no dresser had been provided, so she carefully hung each piece up in the closet, placing her more personal clothing items on the small closet shelf. She wrinkled her nose as she went. Her first act on settling in at the school had been to launder her clothes, but they still retained the distinctive smell of the plastic trash bag that she had transported them in. One of the first items that she promised she would purchase for herself once she began her on-campus job was a proper suitcase.

Finishing with the clothes, she turned back to the bed. Her toiletry items were next, and she set them on what little shelf room was left. She smiled faintly at the small box full of black hair ties, a gift from her high school science teacher who insisted that Brennan would need them to keep her hair tied back during her lab work. It had been a practical gift, and she had accepted it warmly.

Finally, only thing remained. Gently, she picked up the small, metal case and placed it in the closet underneath her clothes. Inside, she knew, were three presents covered in aging paper, along with a red envelope that bore her name in her mother's delicate handwriting. This Christmas would mark the third anniversary of her parent's disappearance, and while she had no plans to open them this year, she held onto them for motivation to work hard and become the best in her field. Perhaps if she succeeded in that, then other people like her would never have to live- as she did- with the weight of unanswered questions.


	54. Keeping A Secret

Keeping a Secret

Booth eyed the woman in front of him, not sure that he was understanding her correctly. His brain was still whirring- not only because the woman in front of him and her brain trust back on the steps had ID'd Cleo, but they'd done it without ever seeing her picture. Now, now this same woman was skipping across the lawn to keep up with him- in her bare feet, no less- asking what they were going to do next.

He tried to let her down easy. As much as he appreciated their help, he also had a job to do, and part of that job was making sure that everyone was in their proper place _and_ making sure that the press didn't get wind of it before-hand. Every inch of his gut said that this smelled like a huge case- something that could get him into a real office instead of the broom closet he was in now.

Then, she'd dropped an A-bomb. He couldn't just blow off her threat to issue a press release, so he turned around and asked her point-blank what she was trying to do and she calmly explained she was trying to blackmail him. Of course she was. He didn't like it and he told her so, to which she replied that he wasn't supposed to.

He'd been studying her eyes the entire time and knew she meant business. Part of his brain screamed that Cullen would fillet him for letting her be so involved in such huge case where so much was at stake. Another part told him the yeah, that might be true, but the last time he blew off her help she'd gone AWOL on him and chances were if he did it again she'd not only issue the release, but then refuse to work any more cases for him. A third part told him that she looked kinda cute all ticked off, her head tilting to the side, bare feet dug into the ground, not giving an inch.

Shoving all those thoughts aside, he sighed inwardly, standing up as tall as he could, knowing what had to be done so that everything would stay under wraps for as long as possible and so that he could keep bringing cases to her.

"Fine," he said, knowing he'd either just sunk his career or taken it to the next level, "You're in."


	55. Test

Test

Dr. Temperance Brennan entered her apartment, freed her feet from the confines of her shoes, set her satchel down on the floor, and headed back to her bathroom for a long, hot shower. The last several days had been trying.

As the water flowed over her, her thoughts drifted to the time spent between Homeland Security and the crime scene. Special Agent Seeley Booth was a man who both frustrated her and intrigued her at the same time. He frustrated her because, based on their previous working relationship, she knew he tended to view her professional status much the same as all of the other FBI Agents who had come seeking her help over the years. He brought pictures and x-rays to her laboratory at the Jeffersonian Institute and expected her to instantly identify the remains as if she were some sort of prestidigitator; her talents little more than a parlor trick to be used for his gain alone.

He intrigued her because today he had done what none of his predecessors had when he'd acceded to her demand for full participation in the case. His "olive branch" as he called it had allowed her to go out directly to the crime scene, collect all of the necessary elements needed to help solve the case, not to mention the chance to observe the body in the context in which it was discovered. This unprecedented move told her that he might actually be willing to take her seriously in a crime-solving context. Also, it might free her from the aggravation of being leant out like some sort of library book for the FBI to consult only when absolutely necessary and shelve when they were done with her.

And so their tenuous partnership had begun.


	56. Drink

Drink

His first drink had been when he was thirteen and found a bottle of his old man's Jack sitting out on the counter one night. Curiosity had driven him more than anything, but from the moment the amber liquid passed though his lips- burning its way down his throat as it went- he'd been hooked. Because when the buzz hit him a few minutes later, his crappy existence lost some of its bitter edge.

Of course, once the old man found out that his Jack was missing he'd come after him with every intent to whip him good. Fortunately Seeley had been home at the time and had blocked Dad's path, taking Jared's beating for him. Seels had chewed him out good a few days later to no real effect. He'd just have to get better at hiding it.

And he did. As high school had progressed he'd refined the art of drinking. He found his own supplier so that he wouldn't have to swipe the old man's anymore, and he figured out exactly how much he could have and still pass himself off as sober in front of Seels. On the nights he _had_ to take the edge off he'd just crash at a friend's until the hangover had come and gone.

Then his over-protective guardian angel had gone off to the Rangers, leaving Jared free to do whatever he wanted. It was freeing- for the first month. Then he realized if he wanted to have a chance of doing anything in life he should lay off enough to be able to function. No way he wanted to end up a miserable drunk like his old man.

So he'd eased up on the booze and focused through the rest of high school and into the Naval Academy. There were more than a few good times to be had there, but he managed to keep sober enough when it counted and besides, he only drank with the other guys- never alone.

As he'd risen through the ranks, social drinking had come more into play than ever before. Alcohol helped grease the wheels of the Navy's inner politics and he'd learned how to play with the best of them. Of course once Seels had decided to grace his life with his presence again he hadn't been thrilled, but Seels was still ever the protector and had helped keep any repercussions of Jared's drinking to a minimum.

Then came the day that Jared had met the beautiful and brilliant Dr. Temperance Brennan. Sure, he'd heard his brother going on and on like a love-sick pup about this chick for the last four years, but he'd never thought to take him seriously. He'd caught on to the fact that she was intrigued by him from the get-go and had quickly maneuvered himself into getting a date with her.

He spun her the sad tale of his brother, exaggerating here and there when he caught that she was buying his lines, then had swooped in and kissed her. She didn't sleep with him, but she didn't slap him either, and the seed of doubt had been planted in her mind enough to make him the superior Booth in her mind.

Unfortunately, that was short-lived. Somehow she found out what Seeley had given up for his little DUI accident. Not only did she given him a verbal lashing as he nursed his mid-day drink, she shoved him off of his stool, bruising his ego along with his backside, and _then_ she made that ridiculous speech at Seels' birthday party. That had inspired his big brother to take a verbal dump on him, during which he told Jared he was on his own from now on.

His last drink had come when Dr. Brennan had come back to him months later with another tongue-lashing, this time telling him that Seeley needed her help and if he didn't help him than he didn't deserve to be called his brother. Her words had cut through the haze like a knife and he realized what a screw-up he'd become. She was right that only _he_ could make this happen and as much as he'd resented Seeley over the years he loved him too.

So no matter what the repercussions, he'd help her get him back, and no matter what happened next, he'd lay off the booze for good.


	57. Memory

Memory

They would come to her at the oddest times.

Once, she was walking down the street when the little girl in front of her had started skipping and humming. She'd stopped dead in her tracks, paralyzed by the memories of another little girl who used to do the exact same thing as she walked her into school every morning.

Another time she saw a pair of ballet shoes hanging in a storefront window. She'd gazed at them for a full five minutes there on the sidewalk, picturing Michelle putting on performances for she and Andrew in the living room just before he would leave for his evening rounds.

Waves of memories always flooded her the most when she would drive past the hospital where he worked, or the house where they had lived. A part of her would forever wonder what her life would have been like had he been able to commit to her as much as he had to Michelle, but long experience had taught her that he would not- could not- and in the end she knew it would've been a life filled with more pain than joy; more heartache than love.

And so she'd transferred to a coroner's job in New York, immersing herself among the dead rather than the living. Eventually she even dated again, though never with any long-term goals. Seeley Booth had been the best of the rebound bunch, but even that faded over time.

Meanwhile the memories were still there, still real, and still suffocating at times, never mind how many miles separated New York from DC. In the end, she moved back to DC, though this time she moved in circles where she would not run into him in passing, and her apartment was as far away from his house as she could get it.

She made new friends, dated new people, and became satisfied with the life that she had created for herself. New memories replaced old ones, allowing them to fade to a dull ache that only hurt when she thought about it.

Never once did she think he would end up on her table, murdered for the same trespass he had committed against her all those years ago. Never once had she dreamed that the love for that little girl that she'd had to let go of would suddenly come rushing back into her life.

Yes, the two of them agreed as they made plans for Michelle to move in with her, the old memories still hurt, but now- now they could make new ones together.


	58. Silence

Silence

She sat in her apartment alone, listening to the deafening silence echoing off of the walls. Life was not supposed to have worked out this way, but it was something that she was- unfortunately- very well-acquainted with. It was why she tried to keep as busy as she could. If she could cram enough things into every day then the silence would ebb and she could pretend that her life was full of purpose.

This, she decided, is where a person with a real life would call a loved one. Unfortunately, her mother had been gone for years now, her father was on the road, and the last conversation she'd had with her best friend had left her even more confused then she had been when they started. She supposed that she could troll the Internet for a date, but then she remembered her decision to date with more discretion and scrapped the idea. Besides, going on a date would inevitably lead to sex and for the next five months, two weeks, and six days, sex was off the table.

She huffed at no one in particular, the silence mocking her all the while. What in the wide world had she been thinking of when she'd agreed to Sweets' stupid proposal?

Sure, she'd just broken up with Roxie and gotten comfort sex from Hodgins, but that didn't mean that something was wrong with her. Of course, she'd come dangerously close to agreeing with Bren in matters of love, and as much as she loved the brilliant forensic anthropologist, when they started agreeing about matters of the heart, she knew she was in trouble. Then Sweets had come along with his no-sex-for-six-months-will-help-you theory, and at the time she was feeling confused enough to say yes.

The phone rang, breaking the silence and rescuing her from being dragged down into the depths of despair. Maybe somebody cared after all.

"Angela Montenegro," she answered, deciding not to check the caller ID so that she'd be surprised.

It was the animal shelter, calling to ask if any of the pets she'd asked about the other week had appealed to her. Yet another reminder of how empty and silent her world had become. She told them no and hung up quickly.

A gentle knock sounded on her door and for a moment she thought about ignoring it and going to bed instead. With her luck it'd be a pizza delivery guy looking for the frat boys who lived upstairs. The knock sounded again, more forceful this time, so she sighed, bracing herself for the worst.

"Angela," it was Brennan, looking concerned, "Are you alright? I can come back another time if I've inconvenienced you."

"No," she said a little too quickly, "No, Sweetie, you're fine, come on in."

"Actually," she shook her head, "I was wondering if you would like to come with me. The sun will be setting momentarily, and while we are not lovers in the sexual sense I do care for you and I thought you would like to experience the transient beauty of the moment with me. Booth says that perhaps you are not coping with your recent breakup as well as you would like us all to believe-" she stopped, as if hesitant to finish the thought, "-and I thought this would be an activity you would enjoy. If you would rather be alone, however, I understand."

"I would love to watch the sun set with you, Bren," Angela felt a surge of joy pass through her for the first time since Roxie left.

They sat on the roof and watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, filling the sky with deep reds, pinks, and oranges. Brennan seemed mesmerized and a little shy, not knowing what to say or do to help her friend and so they sat watching the sky, not saying a word. Angela didn't mind though, this was the comfortable silence of friends enjoying a moment of beauty- and right now, that was exactly what she needed.


	59. Gray

Gray

Temperance Brennan sighed as she sat in her regular seat at the Royal Diner. It had been a long day and while the conclusion had ended in a manner that had been pleasing at the time, she wondered what she had lost in the process.

"Million dollars for your thoughts, Bones?" her partner slipped into his customary seat across the table from her.

"I thought the expression involved pennies, not millions," she said, absently staring out the window.

"Hey, there's one you know and for the record, your thoughts are worth more than pennies," he smiled, placing a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of her to replace the cold one that had been sitting in front of her since she arrived, "Here, this is better than that courthouse sludge we've been drinking."

She nodded her thanks, then forced herself to pick it up and drink it since he had gone to the trouble of procuring it for her. For once, he did not intrude any further on her thoughts, perhaps sensing that she was not ready to articulate them yet. He ordered food for both of them and she went through the motions of eating once it arrived. Without even thinking, she reached over and began eating his leftover fries once she had finished her salad, a small portion of her mind registering that the fries had been set aside in a separate pile so he must have anticipated her actions.

He was halfway through his pie when she decided to voice her thoughts.

"Did we do the correct thing today?"

He swallowed the mouthful quickly, "Well, Bones, what do you think?"

She hated it when he answered a question with yet another question.

"Certainly, the verdict was favorable," she began cautiously, "However I am not certain that the means used to secure it were entirely ethical."

"It's like I said, Bones," he shrugged, "Jury's the human factor. You can't control what people think."

"Yes," she nodded, "However, the manner in which the testimonies were presented was done in order to make them believe that I was just as capable as my father of committing murdering Kirby-"

"Hey," he cut her off softly, reaching his hand across the table to grasp hers, "We all know that you would never have done that, Bones. You aren't capable of something like that."

"That's not true," she shook her head firmly, "I possess the necessary skills and knowledge to have devised such as scheme."

"You wouldn't have though, that's the difference," he insisted.

"How can you possibly know that, Booth," she sighed, "Last year I shot and killed Howard Epps' associate because he threatened your life. That is not too dissimilar from what I implicated myself in today."

"Bones," he shook his head vehemently, "That guy would've killed me otherwise, and besides, it's not like you hunted him down and killed him. You saw that I was in danger, you shot him in the heat of the moment, and if you'd been any slower, I'd have been dead.

"Don't let what Sweets said get to you either. You might be one of the most rational people I know, Bones, but you have morals and you were very upset when you found out what your dad had done. And I know you grieve for every victim that comes into your lab. You've killed, yes, but you're no murderer."

She took in his words, mulling them over as she drank the last of her coffee.

"And so I ask again," she said finally, "Did we do the correct thing today? Knowing that _I_ would not have murdered Kirby and yet still planting that seed of doubt in the jury's minds, does that make us guilty of allowing a murderer to go free?

"We," she started before he could interrupt her, "That is, our jobs, require us to seek justice no matter what. Never in my career have I let personal bias interfere with how that evidence is presented and I feel as if that is exactly what I allowed to happen. My father murdered Kirby, the evidence bears that out undeniably and yet instead of being held liable, we allowed him to be released with no further consequences."

It was Booth's turn to sigh and he leaned back heavily in his seat, "You're right, but you're forgetting that the man he killed was coming after you and had already taken a shot at Russ."

"Does that make my father's actions right, though?" she asked earnestly, "If such vigilante activities were allowed to persist, you and I would not be able to pursue justice properly. My father could have chosen to come to us with his concerns about Kirby, but instead he chose to take on the role of judge, jury, and executioner in the matter."

"Would you rather have Max facing the death penalty now instead?"

Her first instinct had been to answer yes, because then she would not be so torn; however, the image of his smile and the tightness of his embrace, not to mention the knowledge that she would not be an orphan, gave her pause to consider.

"It's okay, Bones," his voice broke through her thoughts gently, "It's just one of those gray areas, that's all. It's normal to feel happy and sad at the same time."

"Science is black and white," she countered, unsure if his words were comforting, or if they simply made the matter even more complex.

"True," he smiled sadly, "But people aren't."


	60. Can You Hear Me?

Can You Hear Me?

"This is ridiculous," Dr. Temperance Brennan muttered under her breath.

_This is a part of life, Bones_, the Booth-like voice in her head rebuked her, _Brain in neutral, heart in overdrive, remember?_

Of course she remembered, even though she didn't particularly want to, she did.

She stared at the ground in front of her, her mind recalling the scant number of times that she had come here before. The first time it had been to lay her mother's remains to rest. Not that she believed her mother still retained cognizance beyond the grave, but she did believe that people deserve a proper burial. Russ had come- with Amy and the girls in tow- as had Booth and Angela to pay tribute to Christine Brennan and acknowledge the small legacy that she had left behind in her children. The ceremony had been short and simple, but rife with emotion.

The second time she had come here it was at Booth's insistence. He had been adamant that speaking to her mother's grave would help her to "connect" in some mystic way to her mother. It was something people did to honor the dead, to ask questions, to find answers. She'd tried to do as he'd suggested, but after finding the silver dolphin that her father had left the situation had only grown more complex and she still did not have answers to some of her original questions.

The last time she had been here was just after her father's trial. Booth had not come that time, but had urged her to join her family. For the first time in over a decade and a half all four members of the Brennan/Keenan family were present, and while she had huffed and sighed her way through most of it, there was a part of her that was glad for the reunion.

"This is ridiculous," she cursed herself again, still not sure why she was here, "Not to mention completely irrational."

She laid her hand on the cold, smooth stone, a part of her wanting to slam her fist down into it as hard as she could. She walked over to a nearby tree and sat down, her skin soaking in the sunlight that it had been recently deprived of.

"You cannot tell me why I feel so conflicted," she addressed the stone, "Why he purposefully worked his way into every nuance of my personal life only to just as purposefully step in front of the bullet that was meant for me. Why I am distracted to the point where I can only fully focus by immersing myself in my work."

Actually, she thought, that part had not been so bad. Her crime-fighting work with Booth had indeed brought her a range of experiences she would not have had otherwise, but it had taken her out of the laboratory work. Pure research was something that she enjoyed indulging in and she had been getting her fill of that ever since that dark night at the _Checkerbox_.

She shuddered despite the lack of a breeze, looking down at her hands to make sure they were not coated in his blood. It did not make sense to the rational part of her mind, but it was something that had been occurring frequently nonetheless. It also did not make sense why late at night she would stand at her door, awaiting his knock and the announcement that he came bearing food. It never came.

Tomorrow, she knew, would be the final blow. She tried not to think about his embalmed body with its one gunshot wound to the shoulder now waited in state at a funeral parlor. Tried not to wonder what his family had selected to bury him in and whether or not his "Cocky" belt-buckle would be present. The truth, however, was that tomorrow his casket would be reverently placed in the back of a hearse, driven to a cemetery not far from this one, and thereafter lowered into the ground and buried.

"You're of no more use than he is now," she spat at the headstone suddenly, "You couldn't hear me before when I needed you because you left and now you never will."

She stood up and left. There were other dead bodies waiting on her with stories of their own to share; ones that would not cause her so much pain. She had had her fill of cemeteries for one lifetime. The others could attend his funeral tomorrow and let her know how it went, but she would refuse.

People never came back from the dead, no matter how much you wanted them to.


	61. Vacation

Vacation

"Dr. Goodman, I'd like to request the use of my remaining vacation days," Dr. Brennan announced as the older man ushered her into his large office.

"Ah," he intoned, "Planning on a little rest and relaxation after all of your adventures with Agent Booth?"

"While, admittedly my recent dealings with Booth have caused a certain amount of stress, not to mention have been extremely time-consuming on occasion; no," she shook her head.

"I, of course, have no problem with your request," Goodman told her, pulling out the appropriate paperwork, "However, what am I to tell Agent Booth should he come calling again while you are away?"

She shrugged, "Tell him the truth. I am on vacation and will be back within a week's time. Certainly he is capable of solving crimes on his own during that span and if not I will get back to him when I return."

"Do you mind me asking where you are planning to go?" Goodman asked, signing the paperwork and handing it over to her, "Not that it is any of my business, I simply find it curious for you to diverge from the work you are currently doing," an easy smile spread across his face, "Are we to expect you to have a nice tan upon your return?"

"I find that highly doubtful," she smiled back, "Though New Orleans is in a warmer climate zone than Washington, I doubt I will find the time to get a proper tan."

"Ah," Goodman nodded, "Going to relax in the Big Easy?"

"Perhaps," she shrugged, "Though there will be little time with all of the bodies that are in need of identification. I am, however, looking forward to sampling the local cuisine."

"You're going to aid in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina," it was a statement more than a question and the archaeologist steepled his fingers, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes," she nodded, "The government has requested any and all available assistance and I believe that my unique skill set would be very helpful given the state of many of the bodies that are being recovered."

"Very good," he nodded approvingly, "Should you find you have need of the Jeffersonian's resources, please do not hesitate to call upon them."

"Thank you," she took the hand that he proffered and shook it as she stood to leave, "I am certain that Zack will be a great asset, and Angela and Hodgins as well."

"It is an honor to aid one's country in such a great time of need," Goodman nodded in farewell.

She nodded in return and exited his office, pulling out her phone and removing it from the "vibrate" setting. The display screen informed her that she had six missed calls and as many messages waiting for her- all from Booth. If nothing else, she thought as she dialed his number, this trip would at least give her a vacation from him.


	62. Kick in the Head

Kick in the Head

When he woke up, he was lying on his back, but there was no pillowed mattress underneath; no Egyptian cotton sheets cocooning him to suggest that he was in bed. His mind began to register sharp pangs in his back like a thousand tiny rocks were digging into him and his head felt like an elephant had been playing soccer with his skull.

It was hot too. Even through closed eyes he knew that wherever he was, it was the middle of the day and at least ninety degrees- maybe hotter, his brain was too foggy to tell. He opened one eye slowly- bright sun- then the other. He grimaced, trying to lift his head off of the ground, but failed as it dropped back down to the arid soil underneath of him.

He wasn't in DC anymore.

His teeth clenched together as a new pain registered; this one emanating from his left shoulder.

Did he really want to know? Yes.

He lolled his head to the side, lips pursing at the pain. There was a bandage there. What kind of attacker would knock a guy out, dump him in the desert, do whatever the heck it was that had been done to his arm, and then patch him back up?

He peeled the bandage off to reveal what scarring lay beneath only to be greeted by the sight of the most beautiful face in his world. At least he now knew who'd done this and why.

As his head moved back to the ground he groaned. Ironic that the man hadn't killed or castrated him as he'd feared after seeing him outside of the diner's window. No, he had done him one better by forcing him to literally wear his heart on his sleeve.


	63. Fortitude

**I've been having connection problems so sorry for the delay.**

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Fortitude

No one who knew Agent Seeley Booth would ever accuse him of being a quitter. He had courage, smarts, and the muscles to back him up when the first two failed him. He also had a reputation as one of the "good guys" at the Agency. He didn't smoke, never drank too much, and was always there for a buddy in need. Look up the word "integrity" and you'd find his name next to it.

What people didn't realize- and what he made sure they never found out- was just how much it took for him to get out of bed every morning.

He was an earl riser; a little side-effect of the Army that never quite faded away. Most days his back was sore too, and regardless of whether that too came from Army, or was a souvenir from his childhood, it really didn't matter because it still hurt to roll over and shoo the covers off.

Once he was upright, his feet hit the floor. More often than not, he'd practically limp into the bathroom, soaking his feet in the hot tub until he could stand without pain. If the weather was cold or damp at all, the process took even longer. Emerging from the bathroom, he would head to his weight set and go through his exercise regimen- always ending with a run on the treadmill if the weather was bad, or around the neighborhood if it was good.

By six thirty he was back in the shower, rinsing away all of the sweat it took to keep himself fit and trim. Next came getting the umpteen cowlicks in his hair to behave. The guys at work gave him a hard time about his hair-care routine, but most of them were balding and none of the women complained, so he figured it was worth the effort.

Relief came to his aching feet as he sheathed them in flashy cashmere. Careful thought was put into which pair would be worn, sometimes dependant upon his mood, other times on how little or how much walking would be done that day. He also had a select few pairs that went with the holidays, and a special pair marked with little skull and crossbones that he wore whenever Bones was out of town on her book tours.

Consideration was also given to the boxers and tie selected for that day. It always amused him while he was in a long, boring departmental meeting, to think that his boxers said "Warning: Gas Leak Below" or some other such silly thing. An observant person would note that his ties corresponded directly to his moods. The color didn't really matter as long as it was flashy- and he kept a stash of especially flashy ones at the office just in case the situation called for it. Angela had once theorized that if you knew what kind of mood Bones was in and who she was dating, you could predict what tie he'd wear the next day. Only for court would he wear a more staid one; and only so he didn't get in trouble with Caroline.

The suit came next. He hated wearing suits and whenever possible would pick jeans and a t-shirt, but more often than not he'd end up in one anyway. They weren't the most expensive, but they were tailored- shirts and all- so that he looked good since he had to be in them. Most days he went with the standard black with white dress shirt. For one thing, that combo matched nearly every tie in his collection, not to mention blood didn't show up as well on black and could be bleached out of white. Tessa had gotten him some pale pink dress shirts when they'd been going out, and while he knew that he was one of the few guys who could pull off looking manly in pink, they weren't his favorites and had gone not long after she had. His clothes hid enough of the scars that he had earned over the decades, the last thing he needed was another glaring example of how pathetic his personal life really was.

Finally, when his feet were babied, his humor satisfied, and his body covered, he would put on the final piece. And yeah, maybe it did have something to do with projecting an image, or rebelling, or catching the ladies' eyes like Gordon Gordon had said. Either way it had grown into an expected part of his wardrobe and he never left home without it. The buckle he wore now wasn't as worn or smooth as the original, but it had been a heart gift from his brainy partner. As he clicked it into place he would say a silent prayer that they would both still be alive at the end of the day; to drink, to laugh, and maybe just for that one moment forget whatever horrors their job would bring them- and enjoy life.


	64. Teamwork

Teamwork

It had taken all of them.

Brennan- to perform emergency surgery, hotwire the phone and the airbag.

Hodgins- to jump in front of the car, text the message, and extend the air supply.

Angela- to interpret Hodgins' code and pay for the stolen crutches.

Zack- to interpret the phone message and find the location in time.

Cam- to focus the team and help them make intuitive leaps.

Booth- to receive the message, put the pressure on Vega, and watch for the tiniest puff of air that would tell him his partner was still alive.

And that's why he thanked God for all of them.


	65. Waiting

Waiting

Seeley Booth stood in a rented hotel room, pacing the floor and counting down the minutes until he could leave.

He considered himself to be a patient man. As a sniper, he had trained his body to wait until just the right moment to take his shot, and that discipline had proven to be highly effective once he moved into civilian life.

What he hadn't picked up there, he had when he'd become a father. Parker was a good kid all things considered, but patience had become especially necessary when it came to dealing with his son's mother. Exploding in anger every time she denied him visitation rights hadn't worked that well, so he'd had to switch gears and figure out just what did. Eventually, they'd figured out a balance that they could both live with and things had become relatively stable.

At work, his patience was tried every day. He'd learned quickly why the others in his field weren't fond of working with squints day in and day out. The way that they viewed life was completely foreign to him, as were the methods they used to deduce the facts from any given set of remains. He'd found, though, if he let them do their thing they'd never disappoint and he'd come to accept that the quality of the results they gave him outweighed the wait and the aggravation.

He grinned ruefully as he studied his image in the mirror.

Most of the guys he worked with would probably tag his partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, as the ultimate proof that he was a patient guy. The woman had a killer body, with a killer tongue and temper to match. Incompetence was not to be tolerated and disrespect for her or her work were greeted with a cool glare from her icy blue eyes. She'd gone through nearly every agent in the DC Major Crimes unit before him and every one of them had warned him that she wasn't worth the trouble.

They were wrong. Sure, there were days when she drove him nuts with her attitude and got on his last nerve with all of her questions about why he did things a certain way. He'd learned, though, that the attitude was really just her way of conveying facts and the questions- while blunt- were never pointless. As the years had passed their partnership had morphed from one of tolerance, to one of mutual respect, and finally to one grounded in trust and the deepest friendship that he had ever known.

Which was, he told himself as he left to attend his own funeral, why two weeks ago today he had flung himself in front of a bullet meant for her without a second thought. It was why the pain didn't hurt as much and the temporary separation didn't matter. Because even though he had been holed up in this crappy hotel room, hidden from the world, she was alive and well and able to do what she loved the most.

He couldn't wait to see her again.


	66. No Way Out

No Way Out

"So," Brennan said as they lounged on Booth's couch, "I couldn't help but notice that you rejected Sweets' hug earlier and I was wondering why?"

Booth nearly spewed his mouthful of _very_ expensive Scotch all over her, "Um, he was trying to _hug_ me, Bones. In my office. Obviously in the line of view for all of the other agents."

"Are you insecure in your masculinity?" she probed.

"What?!?" he set his glass down and took the bottle from her, "Bones, no! It has nothing to do with that!"

"You're not gay are you?"

"NO! Jeez, what is it with you Brennans thinking that I'm gay?"

"I'm not sure what that last statement means, but I am simply trying to ascertain why you would refuse to hug Sweets."

"And you think that me refusing a hug means that I'm gay?"

She shrugged, "I'm not good with reading body language. And your vehement denial could suggest that you are hiding something."

"Real guys don't hug, Bones," he shook his head, wondering why he was having to explain this to her four years into their partnership.

"That's not what you told me," she frowned, folding her arms over her chest.

"What?" now she had completely lost him.

"It was just after my failed relationship with Will Hastings ended," she informed him, "You took me in your arms and hugged me. When I inquired as to the nature and appropriateness of your gesture, you told me that it was a 'guy hug' and that I should simply accept it as such."

He groaned, throwing his head back on the couch. How in the world was he going to get out of this one?

"Are you in physical pain, Booth?" she was hovering over him in a flash, "Did you re-injure your back during the course of our investigation?"

"No, Bones," he chuckled, "I'm fine."

"Oh," she pulled back immediately, "Good. Though you still have not explained why you lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you," he shook his head, sitting upright again.

"But you just argued that 'real' guys- as you define them- do not embrace other men and yet you have spent the last several years hugging me under the pretense that our hugs were merely 'guy hugs,'" she threw up her hands in frustration, "This is very confusing, Booth."

"You're telling me," he muttered under his breath before meeting her accusatory glare, "Look, Bones, I wasn't lying, I was just trying to comfort you. I mean, no, you're not a guy, but you needed to be comforted and I wanted to be that guy for you, okay?"

"Why not simply be forthright about it?" she probed, "Why the pretense?"

"Because," he said gently, "I didn't know if you would just take it at face value like that. Let's face it, Bones, back then, you didn't exactly accept comfort too well. I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable or weird about anything."

"You've hugged me numerous times since then," she pointed out.

"And you've needed one each and every time," he countered.

She sat back, considering his argument, while helping herself to another swig from the bottle.

"You should've punched me," she muttered, setting the Scotch back on the table.

"What?" he was confused once again.

"Like you did to Sweets," she said, "You punched him several times, if I recall. If that is the appropriate way for males to comfort one another, you should have chosen that method instead."

"Ah," he waggled a finger in front of her face, "But you forget a very important fact, Bones."

"And what is that, Booth?" she leaned toward him, voice low and soft.

"I wasn't comforting another guy," he offered his best charm smile, "I was comforting _you_."


	67. Sacrifice

**Sorry for the delay. Internet troubles continue to plague me, but I think I've got them all worked out now :P**

**Enjoy.**

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Sacrifice

"We can find a permanent place for him, right?"

Her words echoed in his ears as they drove in silence to the J. Edgar Hoover building. He couldn't deny her- not the way she'd looked at him, but at the same time he had no clue what he was going to say once they got there. Sweets was okay as far as shrinks went, he guessed, but to Booth, Sweets was still more squint than cop and he really had no clue how to relate to the younger man, nor was he sure that he wanted to.

He gripped the wheel a little bit tighter and shot a quick look at his partner, who was lost in thought. There was a time- pre-Bones- when he would never have considered doing something like this. For years, he had made it a point not to get too involved with the people that he worked with. He was polite, friendly, even charming with his co-workers, but they were acquaintances more than friends and he liked it that way. If he needed a confidant, Sid was always available, along with the handful of his Army buddies that had wound up in DC like him.

All of that had changed when he'd met Bones and her Squint Squad. He'd set out to get Bones out of the lab and into the real world and somehow she and the squints wormed their way into his life. In fact, ever since they'd invaded his place at Sid's he hadn't been able to shake them loose. They all started celebrating holidays and birthdays together and the more he tried keeping them at arms' length, the further they drew him in and the more he began enjoying their company. After the Zack fiasco, he'd promised that he would take even more of n interest in them just so that he would never have to watch Bones go through that kind of pain again.

Which was, he supposed, why he was on his way to invite a co-worker home for dinner and essentially invite the young psychologist into their hodge-podge family; laying aside his personal preferences for the greater good. He really hoped that he would be able to avoid all of the touchy-feely-emotions stuff that Gordon Gordon had hinted at.

That hope died as they now stood before Sweets. Bones was opening up; spilling what he hoped and prayed was her worst foster-care memory. The thought of her being locked in a trunk for two days made his stomach churn and his blood boil. Before he knew what was happening, though, she turned her watery eyes to him and told him it was his turn. He reminded her that he was just here to invite Sweets to dinner, but her eyes implored him and he knew he didn't have much of a choice.

He spoke quickly and quietly and only for her, his eyes flicking away just long enough to make sure Sweets wasn't going to pry any further, before focusing back on her. Another piece of his carefully-kept private life was gone, and he prayed that whatever came of it would be worth the sacrifice.


	68. Pain

Pain

His first conscious thought was that his pain level was not what it should be for the injuries that he knew he had sustained. This- along with the scent of overly-sanitized air that now flooded his nostrils- led him to believe that he was in a hospital room; though anything more specific than that would have been mere speculation.

The artificial light filtering through his eyelids did not help in his ascertaining whether it was day or night, nor how long he had lain in his current state. Deciding that he needed more data than what he was currently receiving, he cracked first one eye, then the next. The light was not as bright as he had feared and his vision adjusted quickly, allowing him to further assess his situation.

He had been correct that he was in a hospital- Washington General according to the "Property of" labels that adorned the equipment- and the IV line running from the pole into his veins explained the lack of pain, though now that his senses were waking he found there was a dull ache in the vicinity of his hands.

His hands- or what was left of them- had been sterilized and bandaged and were sitting in front of him, a stark reminder of the course he had chosen for his life. A small part of his mind began to hypothesize on what might have happened had events transpired differently, but the rational empiricist ruled supreme as always, reminding him that speculation was a futile effort at this juncture in time.

Having assessed his condition, he noted that he was alone for the time being and he began to wonder whether his master's plan had been successful. He could recall several voices rushing toward him just before he faded from consciousness, and knowing his co-workers as he did, he doubted that they would suspect a ruse on his part. True, ever since the murder of Kristen Reardon, people had begun to question the integrity of those employed by the Jeffersonian, but he had been very careful and precise in his execution of the master's plan, and it was unlikely that anyone would suspect him for quite some time.

It was the time lag that he was depending on as he began plotting the next phase of the plan: his escape from the hospital. This window of opportunity would most likely be short, but as long as he refused any further infusions of pain medication, he should be ambulatory enough to leave under his own power within the next six to eight hours. Upon leaving, he was to go directly to the hotel room that the master had surreptitiously rented for him under a pseudonym and await any additional instructions.

The door to his sealed room opened, revealing his concerned colleagues. He did not attempt to gloss over the severity of his injuries, nor did he give any hint as to what his true agenda was. The longer they remained, however, the more agitated he became internally. He managed to refuse the pain medication without arousing any suspicion, but was unsuccessful in persuading them that he did not require their 24-hour vigil.

In the end, however, Hodgins managed to administer the medication, and his window of opportunity was shadowed by the arrival of Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth. One look at his mentor's face told him that she had uncovered his deception and determined that he was, indeed, Gormogon's apprentice.

He listened, stunned, as she began to neatly and simply unravel the cloak of deception that he had been ensnared by since first meeting the master. When she explained how his actions at the lab negated all of the premises that his initial theories had been based on, he realized the gravity of the situation, a part of him wondering how he could have been so foolish.

There was nothing, of course, that could be done to reclaim the lives he had taken, but he could direct Booth to the master so that no other victims would suffer a similar fate. As her tears flowed down her face onto his own, he felt the first pangs of grief and regret, knowing that her heart- just like his mangled hands- might never fully heal.


	69. Sport

Sport

"Okay," Booth stretched as they sat on Brennan's couch filling out paperwork from their latest case, "Time for a break."

Despite her protests, he plucked the files from her hands and set them down on the coffee table beside his own papers.

"Fine," she acceded, knowing that the sooner she agreed the sooner they could return to work, "What do you propose we do?"

"Hmm," Booth looked around, "Got any games?"

"Scrabble," she responded, going over to her small collection of games.

"Uh uh," he shook his head, "Last time you got a three-digit score from your first word."

"It's not as if I can control what letters I pick," she pointed out, "And it was your 'u' that allowed me to-"

"Moot point, Bones," he held up a hand, "We're _not_ playing Scrabble."

"What about Trivial Pursuit?" she pointed to another game.

"Nope," he said quickly, "I only play that when you're on my team."

"We do make a good team," she smiled, recalling their numerous victories against friends, "Though Angela informed me that we are no longer allowed to be on a team together in either that or Pictionary. Apparently, we are 'too good' at both."

Booth snickered, "Yup, we rule."

"Is that like being 'King of the Lab'?" she asked.

"Pretty much," he nodded, "Got anything else?"

"Cards," she shrugged, "Though past experience dictates that you will want to indulge in Poker, while I prefer either Blitz or Canasta."

"You stink at Poker," he teased, poking his finger into her shoulder, "And I don't get Blitz no matter how many times you try and explain it to me."

"What about Canasta?" she teased back, knowing full well what his opinion of the game was.

"Grandmas play Canasta, Bones," he stated firmly, "Not FBI Agents!"

"Well?" she was growing exasperated, "What would you suggest then, _Agent_ Booth?"

"_Special_ Agent," he grumbled good-naturedly, "How about a sport?"

"A sport?"

"Yeah, Bones, you know? Football, baseball, basketball, hockey…"

"I know what sports are, Booth," she glared at him, "Though I do not own any sporting equipment, not to mention it's late and it's raining outside."

"Know how to play HORSE?" he asked, pulling a circular trashcan out from underneath her desk.

"Russ and my father used to play it in our driveway, so I'm familiar with the basic concept," she said warily.

"Good," he grinned, grabbing her newspaper and wadding it into balls, "Loser buys dinner."

She mumbled something about his ruining her newspaper, but grudgingly accepted the "balls" that he handed her.

The competition began simply, but grew increasingly complex as the game went on. As it turned out, Brennan was fairly good at calculating the precise force and angle necessary to make the baskets and kept up with her partner shot for shot. An hour and a half later, they were one shot away from one of them being declared the victor.

"So," Booth wiped a trickle of sweat from off of his brow, "We shoot over the floor lamp, through the chair slats, off the bookcase, nothin' but net?"

She nodded curtly, her jaw set in anticipation, mind calculating exactly what needed to be accomplished.

Booth shot first. His paper wad sailed over the floor lamp with ease, moving quickly through the chair slats. As it continued on toward the bookcase exactly where he wanted it to, he willed it to bounce directly into the trashcan. Unfortunately, when it hit, it hit one of Brennan's death masks, kicking it to the side just a tad and causing it to careen off of the rim of the can and onto the floor.

"YES!" came Brennan's competitive roar.

"Your shot, Bones," he bowed to her, "Don't choke."

"I don't plan on it," she informed him.

Taking careful aim, she released her final shot into the air, confident that her calculations were correct. Just as Booth's had done before hers, the wad moved easily through the first two obstacles. The thud of the wad as it hit the bookshelf echoed in the stillness of the apartment and both partners held their breath.

"HAH!" she crowed, throwing her hands into the air, "I won!"

"No you didn't!" he shook his head vehemently, "It's hanging ON the trashcan, but not IN the trashcan. It's a tie."

"It is not a tie, I clearly had the better shot!" she retorted, arms folded across her chest.

"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, Bones," he clucked his tongue and tapped her on the nose, "And you were close, but you still didn't make the shot."

"Yes, well," she fumed, "You still lost before I did."

"It was all the same round," he grinned, "It's not like we could shoot simultaneously."

"Shall we move to a tiebreaker?" she asked.

"Nah," he collapsed back on the couch, "I think we've run out of shots."

Together, they sat on the couch and surveyed the apartment. Dining room chairs, laundry baskets, stacks of cushions, not to mention all of the shots they had missed, littered the floor in what was certainly the biggest mess her apartment had ever seen.

"Perhaps a stalemate would be the best call at this juncture," she agreed.

"Gotta admit, though," Booth sighed, "It was fun while it lasted."

"Indeed," she smiled at him, "The diversion was quite enjoyable. Perhaps you could teach me some of the other sports you enjoy as well. I am athletically inclined, you know?"

"I heard that somewhere," he gave a smile of his own, "Though right now there's only one sport I want to play."

"What's that?" she tilted her head, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Race to the Diner," he grinned, standing up suddenly, "Com' on, Bones! First one to the SUV gets to drive!"

This time there was no contesting the end result- and Booth sulked the entire ride from the passenger's seat.


	70. Horror

Horror

It was decided- after all that had transpired in the last forty-eight hours- that a group night at Sid's was in order. None of them felt like cooking, the Diner wouldn't seat all of them at one table, and Brennan argued that with the quantity of alcohol that they'd consumed at the wake they did not need to go to the Founding Fathers.

Sid was glad to see them, though he did eye them up carefully to make sure they weren't going to start spreading any crime scene photos out on the table and scare away his dinner crowd. After Sid had left them at his largest table, Booth looked sternly at all of them and suggested that they continue to refer to Hank's murder as "translation" if they were going to talk about it.

Booth and Brennan were halfway through re-telling how she had discovered that Hank had been _translated_ when Angela's head popped up.

"Wait," she said, "Bren, if we were using the Sequoia to link up to the lab, what did you two use to transport the body?"

Brennan looked at Booth, who looked at Cam, who muttered, "Matrix."

"My Matrix?" Angela exclaimed, horrified.

"It was the most logical mode of transportation at the time-" Brennan started.

"My Sequoia was locked-" Booth jumped in.

"And your keys were laying in the parlor," Cam finished.

Hodgins, sensing that might not be enough to assuage her anger, put in, "And since we deal with death daily and Hank wasn't..." he looked around for the best phrase.

"Gushy," Sweets offered.

"Yes," Hodgins jumped on the word like a rabbit in heat, "_Gushy_, we figured you wouldn't mind."

"Too much," Cam said, trying to preserve any dignity that remained, "And we promise never to do so again without your permission."

"You'd better not," Angela said, trying to look stern while reining in her laughter, "Because I will personally tattoo 'body snatcher' onto each of your foreheads if my car is not cleaned and detailed by the weekend- OR if you ever use my Matrix as a hearse again!"

Booth, Cam, and Sweets all bobbed their heads up and down obsequiously, while Hodgins unconsciously rubbed his shoulder.

"Why tattoos?" Brennan asked quizzically.

Angela smirked, "Old family tradition."


	71. Dreams

Dreams

Once upon a time, Temperance Brennan was a little girl. She hosted whimsical tea parties with stuffed creatures that in real life either would have eaten her alive, or had fur so coarse that no one would wish to snuggle with it. She loved watching Saturday morning cartoons with a stack of chocolate chip pancakes and wondered what it would be like to lasso someone with the Lariat of Truth. She begged hr parents for a "Kid Sister" doll one year, but loved the "Chatty Cathy" she received instead.

At age two, she declared that she was going to marry her father when she grew up. When she turned eight, she moved on to Fred Savage, and at twelve she shifted once again- this time to Harrison Ford. No matter who she dreamed of marrying, she knew that she would be beautiful and he handsome, and they would live happily ever after- just like all of the Disney Princesses did.

In those days, she had a mother, who taught her how to bake snickerdoodles and braid her hair. The talked openly about everything and enjoyed going shopping together at the mall. She was close with her father as well, and loved it when he would give her the same science assignments that he gave to his high school students. He could answer any question from "Why do birds migrate south for the winter?" to "What color would a Smurf turn if you choked it?" and he never spoke down to her.

She had a cool older brother too, and while they were highly competitive and fought like cats and dogs at home- he was her fiercest protector at school. It was difficult, sometimes, for her to relate to other children her age, but Russ made sure she always felt included, and that she was never teased.

Then one day, Temperance discovered that mothers and fathers sometimes disappeared in the middle of the night and never came back- not even for Christmas- and that older brothers aren't always as heroic and loyal as they seemed. The conclusion she drew was that the people who love you, can hurt you the most. Not to mention, childhood can flee abruptly, leaving you with only a trash bag full of memories to cling to. And dreams? Dreams were merely fantasies that were best not dwelt on because eventually you wake up.


	72. Happiness

Happiness

"Hi, Dr. Bones!" Parker Booth exclaimed, bounding into her office with his father right behind him.

"Hello, Parker," she smiled, "How are you doing today?"

"I'm good," he grinned, plopping down on the chair in front of her desk, while Booth did the same thing on her couch, "I came to give you this."

He took his backpack off and fished around for something inside of it.

"Here," he said, emerging triumphantly, "This is for you."

She accepted the slightly rumpled envelope with a wary smile and opened it, as it seemed that was what was expected of her.

"Me and Daddy are having a double birthday party next Saturday since I didn't get to go to his 'cause Mommy says I can't go to bars yet, and he didn't get to come to mine 'cause of your case," Parker explained in one long breath, "And we want you to come because you're our friend!"

She was about to comment that it was good that Parker had not been in attendance at Booth's birthday party, given Jared's inebriated behavior and Booth's subsequent bout of melancholy, but decided that was probably not appropriate.

"Thank you, Parker," she said instead, "That's very considerate of you."

"So can you come?" he asked eagerly, "We're gonna invite Ms. Angela and Dr. Jack, too, but we wanted to ask you first."

"Hey, Bub," Booth spoke up from the couch, "Remember, we said that you'd have to wait and see. Bones is a very busy person."

"That is true," she told Parker, whose face fell just a little, "But come around here and you can help me look at my schedule."

Not needing to be asked twice, the little boy scurried around and deposited himself on Brennan's lap. As if she had expected that, she spun them around on the chair to face her computer, and brought up her scheduling program.

"Now," she told Parker patiently, "Every time you see a colored space, that means I already have an appointment."

"Wow, Dr. Bones," Parker gasped, "You've got lots of stuff to do!"

"Yes," she nodded, "But that's this week's schedule, and what you are interested in is next week's."

She motioned for him to take the mouse from her and showed him where to click to bring up the schedule for the following week. He executed her instructions perfectly and asked where Saturday's plans were. She pointed to the correct line, watching bemused as his eyes moved right to the spot she'd indicated.

"It's white!" he crowed, "Does that mean you can come?"

Without saying anything, she took the mouse from him, highlighted the time period that had been indicated on the invitation, and reached her arms around Parker so that she could type, "Booth Boys' Birthday" into the spot. As soon as she clicked "confirm", the space turned blue.

"What's the blue mean?" Parker wanted to know.

"It means I would be happy to attend your joint birthday party, Parker," she smiled down at him.

With a squeal that could rival Angela's, Parker flung his arms around her neck and hugged her tightly.

"Well," he said as he drew back, "I'm happy 'cause you're happy that you get to come."

She simply smiled, not quite knowing how else to respond and was very thankful when Booth called his son and told him they needed to deliver the rest of his invitations. Parker gave her one final hug, then waved goodbye as he exited in search of Angela's office. She rose from her desk to see them off.

"Thanks, Bones," Booth gave her one of his charm smiles, "It means a lot to him."

"It would appear he is- happy," she smirked.

"And you know what, Bones?" he leaned over to whisper conspiratorially into her ear, "I'm happy too."


	73. Puzzle

Puzzle

"Hey, Bones, what gives?" Booth asked as he burst through the door.

He'd spent the last five minutes looking for his partner so they could grab lunch together, only to discover she was holed up in the Ookie Room with a gaggle of squints.

"Booth!" Bones chided, pushing him out of the room as Angela, Hodgins, and Wendell scurried to cover up whatever it was they were working on, "You're not supposed to be back here right now."

"Aw, come on, Bones," he pleaded with a backwards look as she dragged him away, "What's going on back there?"

"It's classified," she said hurriedly, aiming him toward the exit.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he stopped, refusing to go another inch until she explained herself, "You're working on a case without me?"

"That's an accurate way of describing things, yes," she nodded.

"Oh," he replied, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice, "And you can't tell me what's going on?"

"No," she shook her head firmly, "Though we can still go to the Diner for lunch if you wish."

He shrugged glumly, figuring he might as well, and followed her out to the SUV. All through lunch, he was quiet, wondering what was going on and why he was being kept out of the loop. Bones tried to cheer him up as they ate, but it didn't help very much; especially when she asked to be taken right back to the lab when they were finished.

He reluctantly dropped her off, promising to call if he got an FBI case for her. She nodded absent-mindedly; obviously refocusing on the case she already had, and left him to drive to the Hoover alone.

Unfortunately for him, no decomposed bodies showed up in the greater DC area that day, or for the rest of the week. This left him with nothing to do, no excuse to show up at the lab again, and plenty of time to try and puzzle out who else could be using _his_ squints.

He knew, objectively, that the Jeffersonian was sometimes called in on things that weren't FBI related, but usually Bones would let him at least sit in on things and offer his advice. This time, though, she was totally shutting him out, and the more the week dragged on, the more hurt he felt.

More than anything, he missed spending time with Bones. He'd tried calling her a couple of times, to see if she wanted to grab lunch, or a beer after work, but she'd politely brushed him off, claiming that she was very busy, but would let him know when she was free. Suddenly, he found himself with far too much free time and no clue what to do with it. By Friday, he was pretty sure that he had cleaned and organized every square inch of his apartment, not to mention put on a few pounds of muscle with all of the extra workouts he'd done.

It was his weekend to have Parker and the two of them headed to the park to play catch after Booth picked him up for school. Parker was very excited about all that they had planned for tomorrow and used up so much of his energy he fell right into be with no complaints. In the silence of the empty apartment, a thought crossed Booth's mind, and he flipped open his phone, happy to have a legitimate reason to call her.

"Hey, Bones," he greeted once she'd answered, "Finish the case yet?"

"What?" she asked, as if she wasn't sure she understood what he was talking about.

"You know, your 'confidential' case that you've been working on all week?" he tried not to sound too irked, but it wasn't easy.

"Oh, yes, that," she said, "We finished it today."

"Good," he breathed a sigh of relief, "'Cause Parker's looking forward to you guys coming out here tomorrow."

"We are looking forward to it as well," there was a smile in her voice.

They talked for almost two hours, filling each other in on what the other had done over the week and talking about everything except the mysterious case that she had been working on. He teased her about her losing weight because he hadn't been around to force her to eat, and she assured him that Angela had made sure that she was well-fed. At one point, she asked if he wanted to go out for drinks, but he reminded her that Parker was at his house. She apologized and he told her they could go out Sunday after he dropped Parker off at Rebecca's. Soon after that, he realized how late it was getting and they hung up.

The next morning, Booth was bounced out of bed by Parker, who was too excited to sleep any longer.

"Today's the day for our double birthday party," Parker told him, "You can't stay in bed, Dad!"

Booth let Parker drag him out of bed and through his morning routine. He was just getting ready to shave, when there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" Parker yelled, fleeing the bathroom and flinging open the door without checking to see who was on the other side.

"Dr. Bones!" Parker squealed, "You made it!"

"Of course I did, Parker," her voice drifted in from the entryway and he heard the door shut, "You helped me put it on my schedule, didn't you?"

"Uh huh," came the enthusiastic response.

"Hey, Bones," Booth emerged from the bathroom, having found some boxers to throw on.

She greeted him with one of her warm, genuine smiles, which quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Were you and Parker shaving?" she asked, trying to stifle her laughter.

"Oh, yeah, I guess," he said sheepishly, noticing for the first time that both he and Parker still had shaving cream on their faces, "Come on, Pal, let's finish getting ready."

"Okay," Parker agreed, then turned to their guest, "Don't go anywhere," he ordered Bones.

She nodded solemnly and he and Parker headed back to the bathroom, closing his bedroom door behind them. Ten minutes later, they emerged, fully dressed in matching jeans and t-shirts, ready for their company. Together with Bones, they put up all of the party decorations and set the table for the rest of the guests.

When Bones produced a large banner that read "Happy Birthday, Booth Boys" Parker got a huge grin on his face and squeezed her tightly. She mumbled that Angela had been the one to draw it, but it was obvious Parker didn't care.

They had just gotten the banner hung when the rest of the guests began to arrive. Angela and Hodgins came, as well as a few of Parker's friends from school. The four adults guided the kids through all sorts of games and activities and everyone seemed to be having a good time. For lunch, Booth had ordered pizza for the kids and Thai for the adults.

When they'd finished eating, Angela produced a big cake in the shape of a "B" that was covered in candles, Bones led them in a rousing round of "Happy Birthday", and Hodgins helped scoop ice cream and cut the cake.

"Present time!" Parker announced as soon as his cake was gone.

The kids cheered and headed into the living room. Parker excitedly tore at the presents, ooohing and aahing over the toys his friends had gotten for him.

"We have something for both you, and your father," Bones told Parker when he had opened everything else.

From seemingly out of nowhere, Hodgins produced a big box and Angela a bag, while Bones got out an envelope from her purse.

"First," Angela said, "You'll need this."

She handed the bag to Parker and he pulled out a miniature lab coat, complete with the Medico-Legal lab patch and his name embroidered on it.

"And," Bones added, "You will need this."

Parker tore open the envelope that she handed him, grinning as it revealed an ID badge that was almost identical to Booth's. Bones clipped it onto Parker's collar for him, and the boy grinned up at Booth, who gave him a thumbs up.

"What's all this stuff for?" he asked eagerly, eyeing the big box as Hodgins set it on the floor.

"Why don't you and the g-man check it out?" Hodgins said, taking a step back.

Booth got down on the floor with Parker and together they unwrapped the present. Inside, was a highly detailed board game.

"There are three areas," Bones explained, "The crime scene, the laboratory, and the interrogation room. We devised several cases that you can attempt to solve. You will find clues for each case in each of the different areas, and the person who discovers who committed the crime and with which weapon first, wins."

The kids were impressed and started playing immediately. Booth sat back, astonished at both the detail and thoughtfulness that had been put into the game.

He pulled Bones off into the kitchen and spoke softly, "Is this the case you've been working on all week?"

"Yes," she nodded, sounding pleased, "We were originally going to buy him the child's version of a game called "Clue" so that you and he could solve crimes together. But it seemed very contrived to me, and not at all representative of our work, so I enlisted some help in developing our own game."

"Of course you did," he laughed, "Good to know you didn't ditch me for some other agent."

"I would never do that," she looked appalled, "Angela assured me that duplicity is acceptable when it comes to birthday gifts," she frowned for a moment, "Was she correct?"

"She was," he nodded, "It's great. Had me wondering what was going on for a while, but it's great."

"Really?" she was beaming radiantly with pride at having done the right thing.

"Yeah, Bones," he pulled her in for a quick hug and planted the lightest of kisses on her forehead, before releasing her, "I love my gift."


	74. Multitasking

Multitasking

There were six things that she wanted to get done, five things that she _should_ get done, four things that could cost her her job if she didn't get them done, and three things that she wanted to do purely for self-indulgent purposes.

On a normal day, eighteen things wouldn't have been too much, but of course it wasn't a normal day and several other things had happened outside of what needed to happen, so now she was left with eighteen things to get done, and three hours to accomplish them in.

The four I-could-lose-my-job-over-this tasks came first and took about an hour and a half: after which she did one of the purely self-indulgent things.

An intern arrived at her office door with a stack of papers to sign, so she obliged as quickly as she could and sent them on their way. Next came the five things that _should_ be done, but a re-appraisal of the list pared it down to only two things that could be done relatively quickly.

Self-indulgent thing number two only ate up five minutes.

With fifty-five minutes remaining, she moved on to the six things that she wanted to get done. Fifty-four minutes, thirty seconds, and seven interruptions later, she pushed her chair back from her desk with a satisfied grin.

"People," she announced as she locked her office door behind her, "I am leaving. My preference would be not to hear from any of you in the next twelve to sixteen hours. Should you feel the urge to explode, implode, or otherwise destroy _anything_ inside of this lab, keep in mind that I can and will make your professional lives hell and your personal lives non-existent."

She let her gaze fall long and hard across the room before turning away from them and striding out of the lab.

"Must be nice to be the boss," she heard someone mutter behind her.

"She didn't leave her office the whole day," another person chimed in.

"I'm still certain that I could have filled her position adequa-"

Whatever else was said was lost to her as the medico-legal lab doors swished shut behind her.

_And this,_ she told herself, digging around in her purse, _is why I still smoke._


	75. Mother Nature

Mother Nature

Outside, it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, small birds sung sweet melodies from their nests, and flowers bloomed gaily in their beds, bestowing color on a world awakening from a barren winter. Windows that had been closed were now flung open and the tinkling sound of children's mirth as they played filtered in along with the fresh air.

Inside the Jeffersonian, however, Angela Montenegro sensed that a storm was brewing and something needed to be done before it could fully cut loose.

"Mind if I come in?" she asked gently.

"Would saying 'no' make any difference?" the woman at the center of the storm asked.

Angela shook her head and the two shared a weary, knowing smile.

"Spill," came Angela's command.

From the other side of the desk came a heavy sigh, "I think I've made a big mistake."

Angela nodded, but said nothing.

"I'm just-" she shook her head, "I'd gotten used to the fact that I was never going to be a mother; that it was just going to be me, myself, and I for the rest of my life and I was okay with that."

Again, the two women exchanged a look. Both knew that the decision had been made and that the situation couldn't be reversed without a high cost involved.

"What did I really think I had to offer?" she threw up her hands, "My childhood was far from ideal, I barely survived my teenage years, and my adult life has been focused on getting the career that I always wanted. And let's face it- I don't do soft and cuddly too well."

"You have love," Angela pointed out.

An uncharacteristic snort slipped out as the woman shook her head, "That seemed like it meant a lot more when I got myself into this mess than it does now."

"It still means something," Angela assured her.

"Am I doing the right thing?" she shot back, "Is it worth it?"

Angela shrugged, "Those are questions only you can answer- though I think you already know."

Angela received a nod in response and for a long moment, the two stared at each other until finally the other woman sighed once more, the heaviness releasing from her shoulders as she did.

"Thanks," she said simply.

"Anytime," Angela grinned, standing to leave.

"Hey, um, what tipped you off?" she asked, "How did you know I needed someone to vent to?"

"You mean despite the fact that you've been short and snippy and glaring lasers at people all day?" Angela smirked.

"Yeah."

"Crusties," Angela pointed to her boss' eyes, "Never thought I'd see the day you came to work with 'em."

Cam threw back her head, laughing, and for the first time that day she felt like she just might survive the motherhood thing after all.


	76. Safety First

Safety First

Jared Booth looked around the small hotel room, making sure he wasn't leaving anything behind. A small part of his mind nagged that he wasn't leaving anything- except his brother. He sat down on the sagging mattress and sighed.

Growing up, Seeley had been the perfect older brother, and not in a bad way either. He'd stuck up for Jared both at school and at home and had probably saved his life more times than Jared wanted to admit. But by the time they'd both gotten to high school, Seeley's over-protective streak had lost its luster in Jared's eyes, and he'd started to resent it.

More than anything, Jared had wanted to be his own man; apart from his father, the drunk, and his brother, the 'it' guy. Being Seeley's little brother was okay when it saved him from being picked on by some of the older guys, but Seeley cast a huge shadow and there were days Jared doubted that he'd ever get out from underneath of it.

Once Seeley had graduated, he'd still kept tabs on Jared; making sure that the younger Booth behaved, or at least that he didn't get punished as harshly as he should. And while part of Jared loved getting off scot-free, another part of him resented Seeley for stepping in whether Jared asked him to or not.

It wasn't until Jared joined the Navy that Seeley backed off, joking that Jared was Uncle Sam's responsibility from now on. Being in the Navy was almost as stifling as being under Seeley's thumb, but at least there Jared could create his own identity outside of his brother's shadow.

Unfortunately, Jared's vice- just like their father's- was alcohol, and eventually it reached Seeley's radar. Once again, big brother swooped in like an avenging angel- even going so far as to sacrifice his RICO case to get Jared out of the DUI. Jared had grudgingly accepted the gesture, though Seeley really didn't have to rub it in that he had a drinking problem. His older brother held such a high standard, he doubted that he'd ever measure up and Jared had decided that night that it wasn't worth the effort.

Of course then Seeley had to go and get himself kidnapped by that psycho Taffet chick. If Jared had thought that Seeley could be an avenging angel, he'd found out that Temperance Brennan was even fiercer. For the first time in his life, she'd made him face all of the crap that Seeley had taken for him over the years and by the time she was done he pretty much felt like the heel she'd made him out to be.

That had been the last time he'd touched a drink, and the first time that he'd realized just how much he'd miss Seeley if he wasn't around. So he'd picked family over country, sacrificing his own career in the process, and had done so without regret. In return, he'd gotten a dishonorable discharge and had landed right back on Seeley's "To Do" list.

Shaking off the past, Jared stood up from the mattress, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed down to his bike. As his took the steps two at a time, the St. Christopher medal that Seeley had given him bounced against his chest, reminding him in the end, that Seeley _had_ let go of him; freeing him once and for all to do his own thing regardless of the consequences.

He frowned when he saw something a bag hanging from his bike and moved quickly to inspect it.

_Take care of yourself, Jar Head_. The enclosed note read in Seeley's sloppy handwriting.

Reaching into the bag, Jared grinned at the contents. On the front, in small letters, the white shirt read "India or Bust" and emblazoned on the back in letters that could be read from a mile away were two words:

Safety First


	77. Through the Fire

Through the Fire

The echoes of their triumphant laughter lingered in the Sequoia's cabin as they drove off into the night.

"That," Brennan sighed, her chest heaving, "Was exhilarating."

"And fun?" Booth probed.

"Yes," she smiled widely at him.

"See," he grinned back, "It's good to be bad."

"Your theory still has no basis in science," she teased, "And I don't suppose we will be welcomed back at the Founding Father's any time soon."

"Eh," Booth waved off her concern, "It'll be fine."

"You can't know that," she shook her head, "We essentially stole from them. Most business establishments do not look fondly on that type of behavior. And we frequent there regularly enough, they could choose to press charges."

"Don't worry about it, Bones," he shot her a charm smiled, "Just trust me, okay?"

"I trust you," she said, relaxing back against the seat.

"Atta girl!" he grinned.

She rolled her eyes at his cocky attitude, replaying their escapade in her mind.

"Wait a minute," she sat up straight in her seat, eye boring into him, "That last motion before we turned to leave-" she paused, looking for signs of guilt on his face, "You _paid_ didn't you?"

"Of course not," he spluttered, parking the SUV.

"Yes you did!" she punched his shoulder, "Which is why you are so certain that we will not be held liable for our _supposed_ crime."

He thought about denying in again, but she had him, so he shrugged and tried another charm smile.

"Don't you smile at me like that, Seeley Booth," she frowned, "You lied to me- or at the very least allowed me to be deceived into thinking we'd been bad!"

She folded her arms across her chest, then suddenly shot another fist out and hit him in the shoulder again, "You told me to _trust_ you!"

"Ow," he rubbed the spot that was now doubly sore, "I'm sorry, okay?"

She made no sound, but set her jaw firmly and turned to face the window. It was only when he look out of his too that he realized he'd parker right outside of his apartment.

"Hey," he reached over and prodded her shoulder gently, "You wanna come up for a little bit, or should I take you back home?"

"I don't know," she turned to face him, eyes blazing, tone deadly cold, "Is it proper to invitee the _public_ into your home? I wouldn't want to intrude on your _personal_ space, after all."

He groaned, melting back into his seat and praying that it would swallow him whole.

"Guess I deserved that," he muttered, "Got anything else I should feel guilty about tonight?"

"No," she unbuckled and moved to open her door, "Though I was genuinely perplexed and slightly offended that you view me as part of the general public."

"Bones," he called after her, hopping out and matching her stride for stride as she headed for his apartment, "I didn't mean it that way."

"I wasn't under the impression that there was another meaning," she stalked up the stairs.

"Think about it for a minute, Bones," he pleaded, "We were in the Hoover, with the conference room door wide open, not to mention Cam and Angela were there too, so that doesn't exactly qualify for us being alone."

"You spoke directly to me," she accused, "And made it quite clear that you did not wish to discuss whatever it was with _me_- the public."

He unlocked the door and she breezed right past him and made herself comfortable on his couch. Moving to the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of water for each of them before cautiously making his way out to the couch and taking a seat beside her.

"It was Jared," he said by way of explanation.

"I presumed as much," she nodded, taking the water from him.

"So I did end up talking to you about it," he pointed out.

"Eventually," she conceded.

"Sooo," he dragged the word out, "Will you forgive me?"

"Yes," she said, then met his eyes for the first time since entering the apartment, "Though your 'frontal lobe' theory is still lacking."

"Oh yeah, Bones," he chuckled, "What would you say instead?"

"I would say," she gave him a long look, "That people do not necessarily need to do bad things in order to become good people, however, sometimes if they experience bad things, they become better people."

"It's too late for this," Booth muttered at the ceiling before turning to his partner, "Wanna run that by me again- in English this time, please?"

"It's much the same premise as the process used in refining gold," she tried to explain, "The only way to weed out the impurities is to subject it to extremely hot temperatures. Not that gold has feelings or is 'hurt' in the process, but fire can be perceived as a negative thing that in this instance, serves a positive purpose."

"So bad is good?" he asked.

"Exactly," she nodded, "Though 'bad' in my scenario refers to circumstances rather than behavior."

"So I did the right thing letting Jared go off and be on his own?"

"Yes," she said forcefully, "He will never fully mature unless he is allowed to experience the full brunt of his failures."

They fell into a companionable silence, sipping at their waters and thinking about the day's events.

"Hey, Bones," Booth's eyes glittered mischievously, "Still feel like being bad?"

"Does it involve breaking any laws?"

"Nope, just a good ol' fashioned prank," he grinned, hauling her to her feet.

"Against whom?" she asked, following him into the kitchen.

"The squint squad," he waggled his eyebrows and grabbed what he was looking for, "Well, the guys at least."

"Booth," she followed on his heels as he headed out, "How do you plan on playing a prank on the males at the Jeffersonian using only saran wrap?"

"Oh, you'll see, Bones," he grinned, helping her into the SUV, "You'll see."


	78. Misfortune

**To Bone_Dry- with an appropriate mixture of love and cynicism ;)**

Misfortune

It was not, Dr. Jack Hodgins decided as he pulled into his space at the Jeffersonian, his day, week, month, or for that matter, year.

In fact, he mused cynically, in the short span of a year he'd managed to lose his best friend to a cannibalistic serial killer, be dumped by his fiancé, tick off or offend half of Brennan's grad students, nearly lose his job because of the Grave Digger- whom he was convinced was NOT Heather Taffet- no matter what role she had played in Booth's kidnapping- and plunk the only woman he'd ever really loved in the head with a frozen turkey.

He'd also gotten knocked upside the head and tattooed by his ex-fiancé's father; but considering he'd counted on either being shot or castrated, he figured he'd made out pretty well on that deal.

Of course, if he were honest with himself, he could narrow the real problems down to two sources- starting with "Z" and ending with "A".

Zack, he shook his head as he leaned back in his chair, was where so much of his anger, frustration, and hurt stemmed from these days. The whole Gormogon debacle had been neatly swept under the carpet by the Powers That Be, like any good conspiracy. Zack and his role in it had become taboo to speak of except in the vaguest of terms; and only then when absolutely necessary. He wondered if the kid would've been given a second thought at all if he hadn't broken out of the loony bin to help that one time.

Hodgins knew that Dr. B still went to visit Zack regularly- like him- but she never emoted as much as he did. Of course, she didn't have to drive home to the pall of the empty apartment over his garage. Some days were better and he didn't feel like he had an open, festering wound where his heart used to be; but more often he felt like he would never fully recover- nor was he sure that he wanted to.

The same, he sighed, could be said of his tumultuous relationship with the lab's resident forensic artist. A local newspaper had once named Angela Montenegro as the "heart" of the group and whether that was true or not, she had owned his from that first date on the swings. He had been willing to forego marriage for her, shelled out ridiculous amounts of money on everything from perfumes to private investigators for her, but it still hadn't been enough to keep her in the end.

Their recent fling had seemed great at first, he thought, clenching her ever-present earring in his pocket like an amulet; but it had proven to be as bittersweet as everything else in his life recently, and he had been forced to watch her walk away from him a second time without a backward glance.

Yeah, he concluded on his way to the restroom, his life was pretty much in the crapper at this point. Which was why he was not surprised that of all the toilets he picked that day, it HAD to be the one that was saran wrapped so tightly he didn't notice until it was far too late.

"If I find out who did that," he bellowed when he returned to the lab, ignoring the stares, "I will borrow Booth's gun and shoot you with it!"

Booth's snicker was the only reply and Dr. B's conspiratorial look made Hodgins groan, wondering if his life would EVER be good again.


	79. Hold My Hand

Hold My Hand

It began on her balcony in the middle of the night. Two hands reaching out for each other; catching in a split-second that would stretch into an eternity.

The connection jolted through him, eventually bringing him to his knees. Of all of the times and places he'd envisioned this opportunity occurring, this was not among the ones he would have selected; and yet here they were.

For some time now, they had danced back and forth around each other, with several hard hits and narrow misses along the way on either side. The light eyes facing him contrasted starkly with the night; taunting and teasing him as much as they ever had.

He felt the tenuous connection shift as sweat oozed from the heat of their clasped palms. Always before, he had felt sure of what he would do should this decision be placed in his hands. His integrity was a part of what defined him and he would do the honorable thing; or so he'd thought. But now- in the heat of the moment- the temptation to let go was overwhelming and he was on the brink of giving in.

Her voice sounded in his ear, the calmness belying the intensity of the moment. When her body pressed closer to his, re realized that she couldn't prevent what was happening and that the burden of whatever came next would rest squarely on his shoulders.

Their eyes met again as their hands came apart.

And as Howard Epps tumbled to his death, Seeley Booth was left with one single, haunting questing that he didn't know the answer to: Had he knowingly allowed their hands to part; or had he simply lost his grip?


	80. Playing the Melody

Playing The Melody

There were people in the music world, Dr. Temperance Brennan knew, who were born with the innate ability to sense perfect pitch. These people never sung a note off-key and could tell immediately if something was "off" within a given piece of music.

It was a talent she admired, but one that she knew- despite her decent singing voice- she did not possess. Instead, she knew that one of her talents lay not in music- but in the written word.

Every time she sat down to compose a piece of writing- be it for academic purposes or otherwise- she could tell instinctively which words to place where, in order to have the greatest impact and she rarely had to edit a piece twice.

During her undergraduate years the gift had served her well; allowing her to submit papers within minutes of their completion. In grad school, it had gotten the attention of those highly positioned in her field, and enabled her to be published long before many of her peers. Now, of course, she still relied on it to publish articles occasionally, and to help Booth edit his reports when he asked, but more than anything, she used it to write best-selling novels.

In fact, she found that the more she wrote, the more heightened her sense of what each word's place on the page was in the scheme of the whole became. Like a composer, the melody- or heart, Booth would say- of her story would flow out of her effortlessly, and she would spend the next weeks and months filling in the harmony around it. Never once did she allow a frivolous paragraph or sentence to slip through, and her editor was forever teasing that she was being paid well to correct only typos.

One of the most satisfying moments was when she could send her final work off to the publisher, knowing that it was not some meaningless drivel to be consumed by the masses, but rather an opus, composed with passion and meant to be savored again and again.


	81. Do Not Disturb

Do Not Disturb

"Uh oh," Angela moved over to nudge Cam with her elbow, "This can't end well, can it?"

The artist and pathologist watched, transfixed, as the two Booth brothers stepped out of the bar and onto the street. The large glass windows gave them a front row seat to the confrontation which, as Angela had predicted, was not going well.

"They both use their hands to talk," Angela noticed.

"Let's just hope they don't use them for other things," Cam muttered.

"You think they'll fight?"

Two shoulders bobbed up and down, "With those two, you never know."

Thankfully, they didn't come to blows, though both of the women shook their heads when Jared defiantly finished the rest of his drink in one shot. The younger Booth came back in the bar so they ducked their heads, but he wasn't looking, and instead found a corner to sulk in.

"Definitely Booth-lite," Angela said under her breath.

"Oh yeah," Cam nodded.

They looked out again just in time to cringe as _Seeley_ Booth slammed his fist off of the bus stop shelter, then slumped down on the bench inside of it. Every inch of his body language warned that now was not the time to approach, and they saw several people on the street giving him a wide berth as they passed by.

"Ange," both Cam and Angela jumped, feeling slightly like voyeurs who'd gotten caught and turned around.

Standing in front of them, brandishing a large knife, stood Dr. Temperance Brennan, obviously frustrated.

"Apparently, I am not coordinated enough at this juncture to properly procure a slice of cake and I was hoping to enlist your assistance," she was explaining to Angela, clueless as to what had just taken place.

"You need help cutting the cake, Sweetie?" Angela recovered smoothly.

Brennan nodded and the women made their way over to the cake. The artist cut her friend a piece, put a fork on the plate, and handed it back to her. Brennan thanked her, took an extra fork, and headed for the door. A patron coming in held it open for her before she had to resort to a juggling act.

Cam and Angela inhaled twin breaths as the naïve genius made her way over to the still-stewing Booth. His back stiffened as she approached until he caught sight of who his visitor was. The partners talked for a moment, exchanging looks that spoke volumes more than whatever words they were using. Brennan cocked her head, as if asking a question, and the two onlookers watched, enthralled, as Booth's head moved ever so slightly in response, beckoning her over.

She came around the barrier of the shelter and gently took a seat beside him, entering the bubble that he had created around himself. They shared another long gaze, then began eating the cake together. He looked as if the weight of the world were bearing down on him, but the longer she sat there, the more visibly the tension eased, until finally, Booth no longer seemed as if he were about to implode. On the street, people still gave them a wide berth, but they didn't seem to notice one iota as the world narrowed down to just the two of them.

"Happy Birthday, Seeley," Cam said softly as the two women turned back to the bar, leaving the partners their space.


	82. Precious Treasure

Precious Treasure

Seeley Booth stared, fingers splayed on the glass in front of him, and knew his world had been changed forever.

Beyond the glass he watched the tiny person inside open his little mouth in a suckling motion, his small fingers clasping and unclasping involuntarily. Around the little boy lay a sea of other newborns- some sleeping, some crying- but Seeley only had eyes for this one.

His son- a shiver rant through him- not just some random kid, but one whose life would be linked to his from now on was in that room. A rush of responsibility followed by a wave of sadness moved over him, knowing that there was so much he wanted to do for this new life, but so little that Rebecca would allow him.

At least, he smiled, she had allowed Seeley to name him. One day, Seeley promised himself, he would tell Parker about Teddy; but for now it was enough that his friend was memorialized- and that Seeley's son bore his last name.

"May I help you, sir?" one of the nurses asked, stepping out of the nursery toward him.

At first, he shook his head, but changed his mind just before she turned to leave.

"Can I-" he licked his lips and ran his hands through his hair, "Can I hold him?"

"Your son?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Of course," she smiled, "Name?"

"His is Parker- Parker Booth," he managed, fumbling for the ID card Becca had given him.

The nurse checked the card against a list on her clipboard and ushered him in, showing him where to wash his hands before he entered. After what seemed like an eternity, they made their way through the maze of cribs and were standing in front of Parker's. The nurse picked the baby up and handed him to Booth, leading them to a nearby rocking chair.

Parker seemed even smaller in Seeley's large arms than he had in the window, and as they settled in the rocker his tiny eyelids fluttered open. Father and son regarded one another for the first time and the elder Booth felt his chest swell with a love deeper than anything he'd ever felt before as Parker's delicate fingers curled around one of his own.

"Hey, little big man," his voice was just above a whisper, "I'm your Dad."


	83. No Time

No Time

"Trust me," her words reverberated inside of his mind.

His mind? It was cloudy and had been for a while. For months now, he'd been pushing through the fog that rolled in over him from time to time, but this time he couldn't shake it; and apparently, she thought it was serious and wasn't taking any chances.

He stumbled as she led him to his SUV and almost fell a couple of times, but she was there to catch him and eventually get him strapped into the passenger's seat. He tried- unsuccessfully- to convince her that he was okay to drive; but they both knew he was lying and there wasn't a snowball's chance she'd cave to him this time.

The entire ride to the hospital she talked- and made him respond- helping ground him to reality. His head was pounding, but he did his best to answer every question- even managing a smirk when she asked him who Stewie was. Apparently, she'd picked up enough at the Hoover to gather Stewie was a cartoon- a hallucination- but beyond that she was clueless.

Once they pulled up to the ER, time began speeding up on him. One minute he was listening to Bones threaten to sue the pants off of the hospital if they made Booth wait any longer, and the next he was being carted off for what turned into an endless stream of testing.

Doctors talked in what might as well have been a foreign language trying to figure out what he was feeling. The problem was, the line between fantasy and reality was blurring fast and he wasn't sure any more what was real and what wasn't.

The only person or thing that he knew for certain was real was Bones. She stood beside him the whole time, filling in the blanks for the docs as they continued their interrogation. When she was done, they nodded grimly and left, only to return with more techno-jargon that flew right over his head. The words that he did catch- like "_brain tumor_" and "_immediate surgery_"- left him feeling more scared and vulnerable than he had ever felt in his life.

Paperwork was given to him to sign off on. He looked at Bones and she nodded, assuring him that this was the proper course of action, so he signed everything. She squeezed his hand, saying that she needed to update the squints, but would be back momentarily.

Doctors, nurses, and orderlies scurried around him, prepping him for surgery, but he barely noticed. Time seemed both rushed and sluggish as he craned his neck; waiting for her to come back. A couple of times he caught a glimpse of a profile- or a ponytail- that looked like her, but each time they just kept walking. He was starting to become very anxious when suddenly, she appeared on the other side of the glass just outside of his room- her smile enough to ground him in reality once more.

They talked- joked, really- and he tried to persuade her to stay and see him through the surgery; to be his anchor even though he wouldn't be awake. When words wouldn't come, he used his eyes to tell her how badly he _needed_ her to be there for him- all of the while knowing that _she_ needed it too. The last time he'd gone under the knife, she'd been shut out and then lied to about his condition and there was no way he was going to let that happen to her again.

As she stood in the hallway talking to the doctor, a million things flooded through the haze of his mind. There were things- words he hadn't said but needed to-and all of a sudden time was running out. They were wheeling him down the hall when he knew he had to stop them- had to try and say what he needed to say to her just in case things when south.

Teddy's challenge assaulted him, but Teddy wasn't real- Bones was- and she really had wanted to have his baby. So he told her to use his "stuff" to have her child- their child- if he died. At least then a part of him would be with her if all of him couldn't be. He wasn't really clear on whether she agreed or not, but their eyes connected deeply and that was enough.

As the gurney started moving him forward once more, her hand found his. Courage flooded through him for the first time since he'd arrived. Whatever tale time would tell, they would face it- as they had everything else for the past four years- together.


	84. Starvation

Starvation

She sunk into her chair, glad for the opportunity to be off of her feet and properly position her spine so as to relieve the spasms that had been plaguing her. A cursory glance at the clock told her that four hours had passed her by during her time in bone storage. That wasn't overly surprising as that set of remains had required careful inspection, but to her it was time well-spent as yet another dead soldier's family could be given a measure of closure.

A soft snore punctuated her reverie and for the first time she noted that she was not alone in the room as she had originally presumed. His presence wasn't altogether unexpected as he was wont to show up at her office at odd hours of the day, whether they had a case to investigate or not, and she had to smirk at the small trail of saliva leaking from the corner of his mouth; apparently he had been there for some time.

For a long moment, she debated what to do. Her first option was to discreetly exit the room and leave him to his respite so that she herself could go home. The other option that existed was for her to wake him. The former choice, in her mind, was the optimal one; however, she was hesitant to leave him in her office as her couch would not be conducive to his already ailing back.

"Booth," her whisper seemed like a shout in the still office.

He didn't respond right away, so she called his name again, this time at normal volume.

"What!?" he sat up suddenly, fully alert, with his hand reaching automatically for his sidearm.

"You fell asleep on my office couch," she informed him, "I felt that- for the sake of your back- it would be best to wake you rather than leave."

"Was waiting for you," he yawned the explanation.

"Do we have a case?" she was fairly certain of the answer as he had waited rather than hunting her down.

"Yup," he confirmed, a smile tugging at his lips, "The case of the starving anthropologist."

She rolled her eyes at him and began collecting her things to leave.

"Seriously, Bones, have you eaten yet?" he asked, standing up to join her.

"No," she muttered, knowing instinctively where he was going to take this argument.

"Bones," he chided, "It's nine already. You've _gotta_ eat, or you'll starve!"

"Technically," she corrected, "I do not _have_ to eat. The human body can sustain itself for quite a length of time without food. Given my body weight and height, I would estimate that it would take between ten and fourteen days for me to succumb to starvation. Though of course, it would only take approximately seventy-two hours were I to deprive myself of water- which I have not," she indicated her water bottle on the desk, "I always keep myself properly hydrated and have several nutritional supplements as well."

"Living on water and those nasty granola things isn't healthy," he countered, "In fact, _logic_ would dictate that since you like to be the best, you should feed your body properly so that you can operate at peak efficiency."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Hey," he helped her into her coat, "Don't look at me like that. I went to college too, you know, _and_ I've been hanging around you squints long enough to pick up your fancy vocab words."

They walked in silence to his SUV and it was only then that she realized that his secondary reason for staying until she was finished was because he was the one who had picked her up for work earlier that morning. She grimaced, supposing that she should be glad he didn't dangle that over her head as well. Her car was currently in the auto shop for routine inspection and repairs, and Booth had offered- rather generously- to drive her to work and back until the mechanics had finished with her car.

"If you are so concerned about my health," she said as he pulled out of the parking garage, "Then why would you deprive yourself of food in the process as well?"

"Who says I haven't eaten?" he grinned, "You said you'd walk over to the Diner around six-thirty to meet me. I was there, so I ate, then came looking for you. Angela said you were tied up in Limbo, so I figured I'd wait."

"Thank you," she said simply as they made their way back to their table.

"I know the Limbo cases are important to you," he told her, "So did you figure out who your guy was?"

"My 'guy' was female, but yes," she nodded, sipping at her water, "Her name was Patricia Leary, and she served in the Army during World War II."

They talked aback and forth about women's roles in that era. Apparently, Booth was quite knowledgeable on the topic as he had researched it during his time with the Army and she was somewhat surprised that he did not have a problem with women taking on traditionally male roles in the military. He did have a problem with women in the military acting like they were men, but she could agree to some extent as she felt it should not be necessary for a woman to forsake her sex in order to serve her country.

"See, Bones," he smiled after they had left and were on their way to her apartment, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," she admitted.

"And your stomach doesn't sound like a Yeti," he grinned, "So I take it you're not hungry any more?"

"I'm sufficiently sated," she nodded, "Though you do realize that the Yeti is a completely fictitious character?"

He chuckled and nodded back.

"Well," he announced, pulling up to the front of her building, "I guess the case of the case of the starving anthropologist is now officially closed."

"Are you satisfied?" she teased.

"Yup," he smirked, "Though don't think I won't open again if I see fit."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car, "Good night, Booth."

"Night, Bones," he threw her a small wave, "See you tomorrow- for breakfast."


	85. Magic

Magic

She was just about to turn the key in the ignition when her phone sounded from the depths of her purse. Sighing, she removed her hand from the key, unbuckled her seat belt, and leaned over for the purse. It took a few seconds longer than she would have preferred to fish the phone out.

"Brennan," her voice belied her agitation.

"Where'd you go?" a confused voice on the other end of the line asked.

"I'm in my car."

"You left?" there was a slight whine in his tone.

"Technically, no," she sighed heavily, "However, I was just about to do so when your call came."

"Good," he sounded more cheerful, "Well, not good that you were about to leave, but good that you haven't yet…" his voice trailed off for a moment as if he were confusing himself, "Look, why don't you come back up?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"What valid reason is there for me to return to your apartment?" she expounded, "Your condition obviously isn't life-threatening, you seemed to be agile enough to care for yourself, and as both I and Agent Perotta brought you food, you are well taken care of in that respect."

"Aw, come on, Bones," he was whining again and she could almost picture the charm smile he would be employing if she had been in his presence, "Can't a guy just ask his partner to come up and keep him company?"

"'A guy'," she said dryly, "Can ask, however, his partner is under no compulsion to oblige him."

"Please," he begged, "There's enough soup here for both of us."

"And chili," she muttered.

"Chili gives me the runs."

"Thank you for that lovely mental image."

"Any time," she could hear the smirk in his voice, "Are you coming?"

"Yes," she sighed heavily, knowing that if she didn't capitulate, she would end up spending the entire evening bickering with him just outside of the apartment.

She trudged back up the stairs and let herself in, feeling that he knew she was coming and he could not be putting any undue strain on his back. He was in his small kitchen, heating up the soup she had procured earlier and grinned in welcome.

"Make yourself comfy," he nodded toward the living room.

When the soup began to boil in its pot, he ladled it into two bowls and joined her on the couch.

"To good soup, friendly furniture, and magic knuckles," he said, saluting her with his spoon.

She shook her head, "You know that my knuckles are not intrinsically magical?"

"Eh," he shrugged, "They do the job for me."

"They only served to aggravate your condition earlier," she pointed out, sipping at the soup- which was rather good.

"Well, they did the trick tonight," he said, leaning back into the couch with a smile.

"My parents took Russ and I to see a traveling prestidigitator when we were children," she said after a moment of silence.

"A magician?" Booth asked.

"Yes," she nodded, "I was not impressed."

"Shocking," he deadpanned.

"It was simple sleight of hand that could easily be explained," she went on, "And he was not at all pleased when I pointed that fact out to him."

Booth chuckled, "I guess not."

"Some prestidigitators are quite masterful in their technique- which I find intriguing- but that one wasn't."

"Mmm," Booth said, slurping down the last of his soup, "Mama's soup is definitely magic!"

She stayed for a while longer, surprised when he seemed to be very close to his usual self by the time she left. And whether it was because of her "magic" knuckles, the "magic" soup, or simply the last vestiges of the Vicodin, she decided that the most important thing was that he was feeling better; she really didn't want to have to work with Agent Perotta again.


	86. Standing Still

**Stepping up the pace as I'm trying to get everything done before May 19th. :)**

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Standing Still

Change was in the purified, recycled air at the Jeffersonian. It had been coming for some time, but it was now more evident than ever.

Where once a lone, socially awkward yet brilliant doctor used to work, there were now several interns who rotated fast enough to make a merry-go-round horse sick. Not one of them could fill the void, and their continued presence felt like someone was overcompensating for the loss- striving after a past that could never be regained.

There was, too, the continued presence of one, Dr. Lance Sweets. Gordon-Gordon had likened him to a baby duck; someone with no family who simply sought a place to belong. Local opinion varied on his place and the value of his psychological insights; however, slowly but surely he was starting to find his place, and it didn't appear that he would be leaving them any time soon.

Cam was another member of the Jeffersonian who was experiencing change in her life. Deciding to raise Michelle had seemed like a noble choice at the time, but it was proving to be challenging and she found herself hoping, daily, that she had made the right decision. It was also looking more and more like she would have to give up smoking too.

Angela and Hodgins had also undergone a significant amount of change in the last year. They had dissolved their engagement, dated others, and used each other to satisfy their biological urges. It appeared that they each still held each other in high regard, though neither one of them seemed willing enough to effect whatever change was necessary to bring them back together as a couple.

At the center of the Jeffersonian team, change was happening as well. Subtle shifts had taken place throughout the year, and they were growing more and more enmeshed in each others' lives. Booth was slowly but surely opening up the painful doors to his past, while Brennan sought to better her interpersonal communication skills.

And as they all gathered at the hospital- waiting as a group of skilled physicians performed delicate brain surgery on Booth- they wondered how much more change was yet to come. Life, after all, was never static and no one could stand still for too long before it was time to move on to the next stage of life.


	87. Trouble Lurking

Trouble Lurking

He was just beginning to dialogue with Hank Reilly about artifacts that had recently been shipped to the Jeffersonian from a dig site in Egypt when he spotted them. The two figures- one sporting a garish reindeer headband and the other trying to look inconspicuous- had not yet seen him and he wished for it to remain that way for the time being.

As graciously as he could, he excused himself, claiming that his wife- who, in truth, had opted to stay home tonight- needed him. That accomplished, he buried himself in a large crowd of people, keeping his eyes ever-fixed on the two miscreants even as he moved to head them off.

He shed inwardly, knowing that the confrontation was inevitable. Why it was that two of the most intelligent young men employed by the Jeffersonian insisted on making every social event a veritable playground for their own amusements was beyond him, but after the embarrassing events at the Fourth of July picnic earlier in the year- in which he was forced to spend the majority of the holiday apologizing to some of the Jeffersonian's most esteemed patrons- he was not about to let them get anywhere near the Christmas punchbowl.

A feral grin spread across his face as he reached the punchbowl just ahead of them. Quickly, he smothered the grin, replacing it instead with a glare that could rival Dr. Brennan's. Once they caught sight of him, all he needed to do was fold his arms across his chest and shake his head. The glare did the rest, and the two slunk off back toward the lab.

Crisis averted, he relaxed his posture, though he would not leave the vicinity until he was sure that the area was secure. As canned Christmas carols played softly from the speakers, he determined that he just might stop by the lab on his way home to be sure that the two were safely under Dr. Brennan's care. This year, nothing would keep him from getting home to his family at an appropriate hour and experiencing all the joys that a Goodman family Christmas could bring.


	88. Food

Food

"Mmm," he sighed heavily, allowing his lips to linger where they were, his tongue reveling in the new tastes, "Bones, this is delicious!"

She swallowed her own bite, nodding, "I've augmented the recipe since I last made it for you."

"Whatever you did, was brilliant," he said through a mouthful of food.

"Is it inducing feelings of solitude?" she asked hopefully.

"Huh?" he was confused.

"I don't know," she shrugged, "You are the one who always says that you would like to be alone with your food when you enjoy it."

He chuckled, but not in a mean way, "Yeah, Bones, it's _that_ good."

"Good," she said satisfied.

They finished the macaroni, clearing the dishes from the table when they had finished. She filled the sink while he scraped the remnants of the delicious meal off of the plates. Dropping them in the sink, he moved to stand at her right side, receiving the dishes as she finished washing them. A dish towel had been stashed in the waistband of his jeans so that he could dry them as soon as they were rinsed.

Within a matter of minutes, the task was complete and the partners retired to the living room, each with a bottle of beer- he'd finally convinced her to stock up on something other than the Moroccan whiz she liked. They settled down on opposite ends of her couch, both surreptitiously eyeing the stack of paperwork that they needed to fill out and turn in to Caroline by the morning, but neither one wanting to start just yet.

"Why do you enjoy food so much?" Brennan suddenly spoke into the silence.

He shrugged, "Doesn't everybody?"

"No," she shook her head, "I, for one, do not. That is not to say that I don't enjoy a well-cooked meal from time to time; however, for the most part I eat because it is necessary for my continued well-being. Food certainly does not evoke an emotional response for me as it does in you."

"Aw, come on," he took a swig of his beer, "You mean to tell me that you don't have any comfort foods? That you've never been transported back to a happy time in your life by a certain smell or taste?"

"Comfort cannot be derived from food products," she frowned, "And no, I have never had a transitory experience triggered by the smell or taste of certain foods; though I am familiar with that concept. I take it by your line of questioning that you have?"

"Well yeah," he grinned, "Take mac 'n' cheese: sure, I love the stuff- especially the stuff that you make- but that's probably because my grandma used to make it for me every Sunday after Mass. She knew that Jared and I loved the stuff and she made sure that we had it every time we were there.

"At home, all we had was that crap that came in the blue box," he stopped and shrugged.

"And consuming homemade macaroni and cheese evoked certain emotions?" she queried.

"Yeah, it-" his voice softened, "-it made me feel safe, you know?"

He ducked his head, taking another swig of beer and praying that this would not lead to another one of her way-too-blunt-moments.

"I'm sure that was comforting," was all that she said.

His eyes were drawn to hers and in them he saw that she really did get it. She knew what it was like to need to feel safe even though she rarely admitted it. Silence again blanketed the room, neither one of them sure what to say next.

"Besides," he cleared his throat, "If you had to live on all those MREs and Army mess food- you'd love food as much as I do. Uncle Sam doesn't do much in the way of fine cuisine; and college food wasn't that much better either."

She smirked, "I'm sure that some of the dishes that I have been given in various countries could compare; especially those in which it would have been an offence to my host had I not finished the meal."

He nodded knowingly, "Oh yeah, we'd get food from the natives sometimes too. It's always the places that eat the bugs or brains that you have to finish everything and the places with good stuff who get offended if you eat too much."

The shared a smile of mutual understanding.

"Where did your love of pie come from?" she wondered out loud.

He shrugged, "Who knows? It's just one of those things that I've always liked. Doesn't matter what kind either, I just like 'em."

"You are partial to the fruit ones," she pointed out.

"Mm hm," he licked his lips dramatically, "Nothing better than a slice of apple pie ala mode! You really should try some, Bones. You might surprise yourself."

"I doubt it," she shook her head, "I tried pie as a child and nearly vomited as soon as I ate it. I don't like my fruit cooked."

"Thanks for that, Bones," he made a face, "You know, there are other kinds of pies that have nothing to do with fruit."

She nodded, "Yes, but I've found too that I do not enjoy the taste of pie crusts- which are a key component of virtually every pie. Rich foods also do not appeal to me and nearly every pie that I have found that does not contain a crust is extremely rich."

"So what foods do you like?"

"Healthy ones, I suppose," her shoulders bobbed up and down, "And spicy foods- though I'm sure you've been able to deduce that given the high quantities of Asian food we've consumed over the years."

They shared a smile.

"I can think of at least one non-health food that you like," he winked at her.

"What?"

"Fries," he grinned, "Namely, _mine_."

"Perhaps," a small smile appeared on her face, "Though you must admit it would be very detrimental to your health were I to allow you to eat them all on your own."

"So you steal them for my benefit?" he teased.

"Yes," she nodded, daring him with her eyes to challenge her, "A good partner looks after the health of the person he or she is partnered with. I'm merely being responsible by making sure that you do not eat yourself into an early grave."

He threw back his head and laughed, "Whatever you say, Bones! Now, let's tackle this paperwork so that Caroline doesn't eat _us_ alive."


	89. Sorrow

**I wanted to get this out before the finale aired either here in the US or in Canada so that I wouldn't be influenced. Hope you like my take on what could be...**

**Gum :)**

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Sorrow

"Time of death, 19:18," the surgeon's voice filled the sterile room, piercing the fog that Brennan had been existing in since she'd brought Booth here.

"I'm sorry ma'am," his voice conveyed his sincerity, "We did all that we could."

Her head bobbed up and down of its own accord on top of her shoulders as she stood rooted to the place she had been for the last two hours and eighteen minutes. Booth had been correct, she realized, as she watched words pour forth from the doctor's mouth, without fully comprehending them; grief did affect her auditory system. Her mind soaked up the words, storing them for a later time when she could replay and interpret them, while her head continued its involuntary nods.

How long had it been since she'd first sensed that something was wrong? She struggled to remember. Surely, she should have seen the signs earlier than mere hours before his death. His behavior had been growing increasingly odder over the past several months, but most of that she had attributed to Booth simply being Booth- or the odd emotions that she herself had been wrestling with as of late.

One by one the doctors and nurses filed out of the room, removing their masks. There was no need for masks among the dead. She slipped her own off and took three tentative steps forward toward him, his words about what she should do should he "inevitably drop dead before you" haunting her every step.

Yes, death was an anthropological inevitability- but this was the second time that she had to face _his_ death in one year: and the lifeless corpse in front of her ensured that there would no miraculous resurrection this time.

As she moved within visual range of his face, she couldn't help but note that he looked as if he were sleeping. His countenance was serene, like all of the times that she had walked in on him dozing on her couch; the only hint of what had been done in the incision just above his eye. It had not been necessary to shave his head, and she found her hand moving up to stroke his hair. It was soft and downy- free of the multiple hair products that Hodgins gave him a hard time about. She could feel warmth still radiating off of his scalp, and for a moment, she could recall every nuance and cadence of his strong, steady voice.

"You'll be fine," she muttered to herself- the same mantra she had been repeating since they had discovered the severity of his condition. She wasn't sure if she had been praying to his God, or simply attempting to change the course of events through the repetition, but whichever the case it had proved fruitless and she had been left alone.

For the second time that year, sorrow flowed over her like rampaging rapids. This time, however, the grief was so deep and the loss so real, she could not stem the tears as they came. Pressing her forehead to his, she cried for both of them. Not for what they could have been- speculation was illogical at this juncture- but for what they were. No other single individual had woven themselves so tightly into the fabric of her life and she felt the loss keenly.

Closing her eyes she inhaled his scent one last time and once again, she heard his voice whisper her name.

"Bones," he called softly, "Bones."

Two strong arms curled around her, offering her shelter from the storm of her emotions.

"Bones," he said again, "Wake up. It's okay. I'm alright."

Slowly, her eyes opened.

It was nighttime and she was slouched in a chair beside his hospital bed; his scent surrounding her, brown eyes probing grey as he sought to find out what was wrong. His hand caressed her face tenderly and consciousness returned to her, the reality of the past several days- days she had spent waiting for him to wake up from the surgery- replaying itself like a movie in her mind even as her vivid dream melted into the dark. Joy overtook the sorrow.

"You're alive," she breathed, laying her hand on his bare torso.

"Yeah, Bones," he said softly, pulling her close so that she was nestled up against him, "I'm fine."


	90. Creation

Creation

It always began with a thought- sometimes a single word, other times a complex ideology- but always first, a thought. Once the thought was there, it would germinate in her mind.

Sometimes, she would simply pick her medium and allow the thought to flow from her organically- her expert fingers knowing exactly what needed to be done. Other times, she would mull over the thought for days, or weeks even. These were special projects requiring commitment and dedication as well as careful planning and thought in order to be executed just the way she envisioned. Not a drop of paint would touch the canvas until the picture was crystal clear in her mind- and at least a trashcan's worth of wadded up sketches had accumulated.

Whether the process was organic or planned, however, the result was always the same. At the finish of each work, she would step back- either from the pottery wheel, or her easel, or whatever- and let all of the emotion she had put into it flow over her.

The creation of art- to Angela Montenegro- could never be merely a hobby or a part of her job. Each work was a piece of her heart and soul fleshed out for the world to see.


	91. Under The Rain

**Only 10 to go! The finish line is in sight!**

**Gum :)**

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Under the Rain

It was a hot summer in Washington, DC. Humidity rolled in waves off of the Potomac River to the point where the locals joked that they didn't know if they were walking or swimming along the sidewalks. The streets pulsed with the gentle hum of window-mounted air conditioning units and the thrum of ancient ceiling fans.

A steady flow of bodies came through the Jeffersonian's doors in rancid states of decomposition, escorted by a Special Agent whose usually crisp suits and shirts were now wilted well before noon. He seemed glad for the respite that the climate-controlled lab provided and envious of the squints who got to stay while he and his partner chased down leads.

The heat was getting to them all, though and tempers were short across the board. Cam felt like a den mother at a frat house, while Hodgins kept snapping at whichever squintern of the week happened to cross his path. His rubber band was making a permanent mark from all of his plucking at it. Angela, too, was high-strung; though most people associated that to her continued vow of celibacy rather than the heat. They were all counting down the days until _that_ spell came to an end.

As for the head of the Jeffersonian Brain Trust, she was more than content to be working long hours once more; and kept reminding anyone who would listen that considering all of the countries that were close to the Equator that she had been to, the heat spell was relatively short and cool. She knew from long experience that by winter they would all be pining for warmer temperatures just as they had this past year, though she was also not naïve enough to think anyone really paid attention to her.

Finally, Cam informed everyone- including Booth and Sweets- that due to the stress they were all under, there would be a picnic on the front lawn the following day. All save Dr. Brennan were enthused and Booth immediately began planning what he would grill for them and how.

The morning of the picnic broke the same as every other morning for the past several months. The squinterns argued about the best angle at which to pitch the tent so that maximum shading was achieved, while Hodgins passed out a special sunscreen that he had stayed up brewing in the lab late last night.

Midway through the horseshoe tournament, dark clouds swept down from the north and before anyone had time to react, buckets of rain began pouring down from the sky. Rather than seek shelter, however, everyone present began cheering. Someone turned up the volume on the stereo system that was safely ensconced under the tent and a lively dance began.

Together, they celebrated the end of the long, muggy spell- and Angela and Hodgins celebrated the end of her vow of celibacy.


	92. Tower

Tower

Booth sauntered into the Ookie Room, surprised to see that the wind tunnel Max Keenan had helped to build was still there after all of the fuss Bones had made about it. Not only that- he did a double-take- but the room was crowded with more squints than he'd ever seen in one place.

It was nine at night and he had fully intended to simply find Bones and haul her out for dinner, but apparently something big was going down, and he felt slightly put out that he had not been invited. The original object of his search was standing in the center of the group, explaining the rules for what was about to take place.

"What is this?" Booth eased up next to Cam, causing her to jump slightly.

"Hodgins, Wendell, and Max have all built towers from three different materials and are competing to see whose will stand the longest in the tunnel," she explained.

"And you sanctioned this?" he asked skeptically.

She shrugged, "This 'experiment' is being formally funded by the Cantilever Group, so it's kosher to me. Plus, I told Hodgins he's in charge of cleaning up the mess."

Booth shook his head in amusement and stood back to watch. Sure enough, there were nine tower-looking structures on display at the front of the room. Bones was going on about how there were three categories for building materials and all three entries in a given category would be placed simultaneously into the tunnel. The last house standing would be the winner and at the end all wins would be tallied in order to crown a champion.

As he inspected the towers more carefully, he discovered what the categories were.

"Who do they think they are, the three little pigs?" he muttered under his breath loud enough for Cam to hear.

The pathologist snorted, but said nothing. The first three towers were placed in the tunnel and Booth snickered as Bones pulled a piece of hay from her hair when she'd finished. She opened her mouth to speak.

"And now, I shall-"

"Huff and puff and blow your house in," Booth couldn't resist cracking.

A roomful of eyes zeroed in on him, and while the majority of them were hiding smirks of their own, the woman at the front of the room was glaring lasers at him.

"Booth," she complained, "This is a scientific experiment, not some re-creation of a fanciful children's tale."

"Whatever you say, Bones," he winked, "Carry on."

Appropriately, she huffed and puffed at him, then hit the button that turned on the tunnel. Max won the first round by a millisecond. What was left of the towers was swept out and the wooden structures were placed in next.

"Little pig, little pig let me in," a tiny voice- that was not Booth- squeaked from amid the crowd.

"Not by the hair on my chinny, chin, chin," Max cracked back.

Bones rolled her eyes, aimed another glare at Booth, and hit the button.

"Yes!" came Hodgins' triumphant crow as Wendell and Max watched their structures tumble on either side of his.

"The score stands tied at one win each for Max and Jack, and no wins for Wendell," Bones announced as if she thought no one else were keeping score, "Should a three-way tie ensue, we will move to a tie-breaker."

You would've thought that the Superbowl title was on the line as the brick towers were set in place and the tunnel sealed. No one dared speak this time as Bones' hand hovered over the button before finally hitting it.

Gale-force winds pummeled the towers, shaking them, but doing nothing to fell them. After several seconds, a buzzer sounded and she turned the dial up a notch, increasing the wind-speed. Again, they shook, but didn't fall.

The buzzer sounded again, and again, Bones turned up the dial. Wendell groaned as his tower finally caved under the intense wind. A collective breath was held as the onlookers watched for any signs of strain in the other two, but neither fell as a third buzzer sounded.

"This will be the final adjustment," Bones intoned as she cranked the dial one last time.

Booth had no clue how fast the wind was blowing in there by now, but little funnel clouds started to form inside of the tunnel and he prayed the thing wouldn't bust- sending bricks flying everywhere. Finally, one of the funnels reached the two remaining towers.

With a crash that caused the crowd to jump in surprise, Hodgins' house fell, followed only a fraction of a second later by Max's. The old man smiled at his competitors, but said nothing. Grudgingly, first Wendell, then Jack, congratulated him on the victory, and the crowd began to disperse, all abuzz about how each of them theorized that Max's tower was able to resist the wind the longest.

"So wait," Booth said to no one in particular, "That's it?"

Cam looked at him, "Uh huh, but Max just made my job a helluva lot easier."

"How's that?" Booth asked.

"Guy with a mere bachelors' and a rap sheet beats the doctor and doctoral candidate in a wind tunnel that _he_ built?" she shrugged, "Yup, I'd say Max has earned his place."

Booth rolled his eyes and left, muttering about how only squints could make hazing look like a cross between a twisted fairy tale and a science experiment.


	93. Illusion

**And now that the finale is over... my take on it :)**

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Illusion

She sat, not knowing when the achingly long wait for him to awaken would end. Food was brought to her by the steady influx of visitors and Angela had brought in her laptop and extra clothes.

The surgery- so they told her- had been a success; however, his reaction to the anesthesia that had extended her bedside vigil did not convince her that all would be fine when- or if- he awoke.

On the morning of the fourth day, she woke up and booted up her laptop. There were emails waiting for her response and her book was in the final revision stages with a deadline looming just around the corner.

As she waited for the computer to boot up, she began contemplating the sudden twists and turns that her life had taken- both in the last four days and the last four years. Without a conscious thought, she opened a blank document as soon as it was ready and began trying to make sense of her conflicting emotions through writing. Words were her medium- her means of catharsis- and as she typed, she muttered her musings aloud.

Who was she any more? Not the same woman as four years ago, that was certain. Were she and Booth truly living the separate lives they always told people they did? After facing the possibility of life without him for the second time in a year, she had her doubts. What effect would Booth's current situation have on their relationship? She wasn't sure, but change- as she had told Booth previously- was inevitable.

The image of storm clouds rolling in came to her, along with her father's old saying that it was "always darkest before dawn".

As words poured from her fingertips, her mind moved at a dizzying pace. As if awaking from a long slumber, she realized that the feelings she harbored for Booth could be quantified as the "love" that he, Angela, and Cam were always talking about. That scared her. She had been hurt by those she had loved in the past and the effort that she had been forced to exert to bring healing to those relationships had not been pleasant. She also was a woman who liked to be in control and the thought of giving up that control for personal happiness was something she was unsure if she wanted.

Was "love" and all that it encompassed truly worth opening oneself up to all of the potential suffering? The burden?

"Like wings, they have weight," she typed of the burdens of love, "we feel that weight on our backs, but they are a burden that lifts us. Burdens that allow us to fly."

The words sounded so foreign when she re-read them and frustrated with her maudlin musings, she deleted the feelings for him that she had exposed, closed the laptop, and went back to waiting.

****

He was in bed, in some nebulous state between the blankness of anesthesia and the awareness of full consciousness, and as he slept, he unknowingly dreamed.

Brennan was near- he could hear her voice in his head and felt her presence in the bed beside him before he opened his eyes. It was early morning and someone was knocking on the door. They started bickering about who would answer it and he inevitably lost when she yanked the covers off of him and kicked him out of bed. He fumbled around for his robe and had to settle for hers instead.

It was Jared and his partner Cam, come to tell them that a body had been found at their nightclub. The questions started there and only continued to build upon each other as the case unfolded in front of them.

Was Bren faithful? He didn't doubt that. Was Jared waiting for a crack in their marriage to swoop in and snatch her from him? He wouldn't put it past him. Who had killed the man who had targeted his wife? He knew it wasn't him, but beyond that it was like piecing together a puzzle without a clue what the picture on the box looked like.

One thing was certain: his team was loyal to him. They loved and trusted him enough to trust that he would look after his wife's safety at all costs. In fact, they had covered up so much from the police that in the end, it was the couple's combined efforts- not the police- that cracked the case- exposing Jared as the killer.

Booth watched, proud as he could be, as Brennan put herself in harm's way in order to resolve the matter. She was so strong that way and so much more complex than most people gave her credit for. But he knew, and he loved her for it.

Case resolved, they went to her office. He cradled her in his arms and she dropped a bombshell. A baby was coming- their baby- the ultimate expression of the deep connection that they shared. A miracle resulting from two mortals' meager attempt to make love.

On that note, he sighed, buried his head in her shoulder, and closed his eyes.

He opened them again to find himself in a strange bed. She was at his side immediately, talking about something that was far removed from what they had just experienced.

Had the whole nightclub case been only a dream?

It had seemed so real.

A part of his mind told him that he'd been having these vivid dreams a lot recently. Vague memories of Lucky Luc and Teddy and Stewie trickled in. Was the nightclub reality? Or was this? Was she his wife or his partner? Was there a baby coming soon or was his stuff in a bank somewhere waiting for her?

He searched in vain for words that would make sense of it all. Pushing through the haze, he looked into those eyes that he knew so well, licked his lips, and spoke:

"Who are you?"

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**Need to Know Info: My POV on the finale was that up until the first whiteout, we are watching the REAL B&B going at it some time around the end of S5 in at least an engagement relationship(thus no mention of said sex above), then it shifts to the dream- which IMO is Booth's, while at least part of the narration- def the stuff at the end- is Brennan's mind sorting through things. The END of S5 is at the BEGINNING, and as you can see, I kind of think the amnesia thing is a misdirect, just like the opening is- HH seems to revel in misdirection. **

**Whole lot of subtext going on and amazing setup for S5 if they do it right, the acting was top-notch, and yeah, there are things I just don't get- no ep is perfect(except, maybe, Judas)... but that's for the forums to debate... **

**PLEASE let me know your thoughts.**

**Thnx; Gum :)**


	94. Heal

Heal

A very wise sage once wrote that "to hurt is as human as to breathe." This is something that he has known since childhood and that is reinforced by the profession he has chosen. Most people- he is convinced- hurt majorly at one time in their lives or another; though how they react to that hurt and move toward healing differs vastly and can be categorized in different ways.

One group, is the extroverts. These are the people who seem- at first glance- as if they have no hurts, no hidden pasts, and no conflicting emotions. The make friends easily and are extremely empathetic. The ones who are intimately acquainted with hurt, choose to take what they know and use that knowledge to better connect with their fellow man. The problems arise when they focus so much on others, that they forget that they have their own demons to face.

The opposite group from the extroverts, are- of course- the introverts. Where the extrovert reaches out, the introvert digs in deep; keeping to themselves for the most part. They too go about their lives revealing little or nothing of their past, yet it is something that they struggle with regularly. If pressed, they will share rather than deflect like the extrovert; but only under certain circumstances and only to those whom they trust. In a way, however, this group is better off than the extroverts because they are willing to privately face their hurts rather than ignore them.

Outside of the extroverts and the introverts, there are the rest. These people either face their hurts and move on boldly, living emotionally healthy and satisfied lives, or they deal with their hurts through cynicism and settle for a jaded life.

Yes, he knows well that all people hurt eventually, but he also knows that they all are capable of healing. True some- like him- bear physical scars, while others bear metaphorical ones, but no one is beyond help if they are willing to seek it.

That is the hope that spurs him on- the drive that he has to show others that they can find healing from their hurts like he has. He yearns to aid in the stimulation toward living an emotionally whole and healthy life. He is young and sometimes jumps to conclusions long before all of the facts are in. He has had to learn that humans cannot be experimented on like lab rats and that some people simply can't be pushed too far or too fast. He has also learned that he must see to his own needs- his desires to belong, to fit in, and to be loved.

And so, Sweets determines, he will weather the endless critiques and attacks on his lack of experience as well as his profession. He will observe them on their turf, and challenge them on his. And when they knock on his door whenever they see fit, he will welcome them in and listen, just as they do for him when he needs guidance.

Because _that_ is what families are for.


	95. Foreign

**Only 6 more left!**

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Foreign

While Dr. Temperance Brennan would readily admit that she enjoyed her newfound position as a full participant in the cases brought to her by Agent Booth and the FBI, she was quickly discovering that her obligations to the Jeffersonian were becoming more and more difficult for her to accomplish in a timely manner. Thus she resolved that on the Saturdays that she was not involved in a case with Booth, she would come into the lab and catch up on her other work- specifically the identification of those housed in bone storage. She invited her grad student, Zack Addy, to assist her and he eagerly accepted.

"Zack," she asked one Saturday morning as they worked side-by-side, "Are you at all familiar with the names Scully and Mulder?"

"I believe they are television personas," he replied, "Hodgins is a rather large fan of the show as they solve mainly paranormal cases for the FBI. From what I recall of his explanations, two of the show's main tenants are "The Truth is Out There" and "Trust No One"- which I believe is why he enjoys the show so much. Why do you ask?"

"Agent Booth made reference to them once and I was uncertain as to the inference he was attempting," she said without looking up from her work, "At the present, I do not own a television set; though even when I did, I rarely watched anything other than documentaries."

"I enjoy those and certain sporting events as well," Zack replied, "I find that I am appalled by so-called 'reality' television, that I do not comprehend much of the humor found in situation comedies, and that the forensic references in crime-solving dramas is farcical at best."

"They don't listen," she informed him, "I have lost track of the number of producers who have asked for my input on forensic science issues, only to twist my suggestions to fit their shows' agenda, or ignore them outright in favor of some character plot-line that they wish to pursue."

"Hodgins and I occasionally compete to see who can spot the inconsistencies in such shows," Zack's lips curved in a small smile, "It's quite invigorating, though we often argue as to how we would have conducted the experiment at the Jeffersonian."

"I have pointed out that my book bears witness that one can successfully produce good character development alongside of sound science when writing a fictitious crime story," she shook her head, "However, they refuse to take me at my word."

"The entertainment industry is very much a foreign culture to me," Zack commented, "And is one of the few that I am not at all inclined to understand further."

They shared a nod and turned silently back to their work, both content that they had chosen a career in science over entertainment.


	96. Rated

Rated

Special Agent Seeley Booth sprawled out on his couch and sighed contentedly. It was finally the weekend, he had no case work to finish up, and he was free to do whatever he wanted. The only thing that could have made the weekend better would be Parker's presence, but Rebecca had taken him to her folks so Booth was out of luck.

He was just trying to decide whether or not he should go relax in the tub, when there was a knock on his door. He knew without looking who it was- and that she was upset about something- but it really didn't bug him too much.

"Hey, Bones," he put on his best charm smile as he opened the door, "What's wrong?"

As he had predicted, she looked peeved about something and breezed past him without so much as a hello. She hung her coat on the back of a chair and sat down heavily at the two-person table in his kitchen.

"Make yourself at home," he teased, ignoring her glare, "Wanna beer?"

She nodded, but still gave no clue as to what had made her so upset that she'd come over; though at least so far she hadn't gone for his scotch. He was hoping that meant it was nothing major. Opening two bottles, he gave one to her and sat down across from her. Still brooding, she took it, tipping her head in thanks and proceeded to start drinking it in gulps.

They sat in silence, he sipping and she gulping until their drinks were gone.

"So," he rested his elbows on the table and leaned in, "A forensic anthropologist walks into a bar, and the bartender says, 'Why the long face?'"

"We're not in a bar," she frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Forget it," he rolled his eyes, "You gonna tell me what's wrong any time before the weekend's over?"

"This," she fished a magazine out of her purse and plopped it down in front of him.

It was folded open to a page, bearing her picture alongside the cover of her new book. The book hadn't been officially released yet, but he knew the advance copies had gone out as he'd gotten his just the other day. Apparently, the author of the article had gotten her copy as well- and had hated it. Only one of the five stars was colored in, and just scanning it, he could tell it was a less-than-flattering review.

Well, that explained why she was upset.

"Everybody gets a dud review sometime," he said gently.

"She hated it," Bones frowned, "Her exact words were, 'It was meaningless romantic drivel surrounded by a vocabulary so complex one needs a medical degree and an unabridged dictionary to wade through it.'"

"Yeah," he tried to sound sympathetic and was not about to tell her that the only reason he could follow some of the technical jargon was because he'd been surrounded by squints for the past four years, "This was one of your heavier cases, though."

Her frown deepened, "Yes, but it's not as if my audience is any less intelligent. Not to mention, the lead character _is_ a forensic anthropologist, thus the medical 'jargon' that she so disdainfully refers to is relevant."

He wasn't sure what to say, so he kept quiet and finished reading the article.

Eventually, she spoke again, "I also did not appreciate her statement that my book was not worth the paper it was printed on and therefore should be likened to the murdering of forests."

"That was way too harsh," he agreed.

"Though it did make me consider publishing my next one exclusively in an electronic format," she looked serious, "My publisher says that will decrease sales, but it is not as if I'm seeking more wealth, and I _am_ concerned about my impact on the environment."

"It's your choice," he told her, "Though I'd think about it carefully before you make a decision based on this review alone."

Bones nodded, then lapsed back into silence.

"She did not like the ending either," she informed him, "Nor have several other, more generous, critics."

"You've never done a cliffhanger before," he pointed out, "And you did kind of leave poor Andy in a bad place."

At that, she smirked, "It's classic misdirection, Booth. Obviously, I am not going to place one of the two central characters in position where he is permanently unable to do his job. Nor would I permanently sever their personal relationship. That would make no rational sense, whatsoever. My editor thought it was a good idea, and I felt it stayed true to the characters' story arc."

"I thought it was brilliant," he smiled widely, "Your next book is going to _fly_ off shelves once it comes out!"

"_If_ anyone buys this one."

"Eh," he waved off her concern, "They might not get it at first, Bones, but after a few reads they will, and I _guarantee_ you that whether they like it or not they'll flock to the next one."

"Why?" she wanted to know.

"Fan can be fickle if they're anticipating one thing and get another," he shrugged, "But you've got a loyal base and they'll keep coming back for more no matter what."

For a second, a smile started to curve on the edge of her lips, but was quickly replaced by a frown.

"What did you think?" she looked him directly in the eyes.

"I liked it," he met her gaze head on, "It was different than your other ones- deeper- but you had a really tight plot that only got better after I read it a second time."

The smile finally came- one that lit up her face like a Christmas tree- and he smiled back. Pulling out a pen, he took the article and colored in the rest of the stars.

"See," he showed her, "All fixed."

"The harsh words are still there," she told him.

"Yeah," he leaned in closer to her, "But you'll live, and you'll make a bazillion dollars anyway, so who cares about a few bad reviews?"

He smiled, egging on her smile, and she sat back, the tension she had been carrying slowly draining from her frame.

"Need another one?" he asked, pointing to her empty beer.

"No, thank you," she shook her head, then looked at him with something akin to tenderness, "You- you're a good friend, Seeley Booth."

"And you're a good author, Temperance Brennan," he said softly back to her.

"A best-selling one," she smirked.

"Exactly."


	97. Traps

**The rest of these SHOULD be up by the end of the day, EST.**

**Gum :)**

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Traps

Dr. Camille Saroyan was fed up and decided that it was time to take action. She found it bad enough that no one had mentioned to her when she took the position as head of the forensics lab at the Jeffersonian that she would have to fight for their respect every step of the way; especially the respect of one Dr. Temperance Brennan. She certainly would not have expected Seeley's loyalty to Brennan, either, and had been forced to admit that she needed to start finding the middle ground with the forensic anthropologist, or start looking for a whole new forensics team. Lately, however, they had gone too far.

"If you want your 'Squint Squad' or whatever you call it to live," she said, barging into Seeley's office unannounced, "You need to help me."

The Special Agent grinned lazily, "Aw, it can't be that bad, Cam."

"It is," she folded her arms in front of her chest and used her best I'm-from-the-Bronx-so-don't-mess-with-me glare.

"What's up?" he leaned forward, though she could still see he was more amused than anything, "Is somebody dipping your pigtails in the inkwell?"

"No," she shook her head, "_Somebody_ is stealing my personal chocolate stash from the fridge. It's clearly labeled, there's no reason that anyone else should be eating it- or even touching it!"

"Keep it in your office," he shrugged.

"I don't have a mini-fridge," she told him, "And I shouldn't have to. These people are geniuses- they should be able to read the phrase 'Keep Out' and know what it means. Did you know Dr. Hodgins used my personal _blender_ the other day in one of his bug experiments?"

He tried to hide a grin and failed.

"You _did_ know!" she accused him.

"Sure," he smirked, "Everybody knows."

"Well _everybody_ is going to know that you don't mess around with my stuff," she said, disgusted, "And _you_ are going to help."

"Uh uh," he said, holding up both hands, "I know better than to mess with the squints."

"Well, then you'll give me what I need," she said, handing him a slip of paper, "I expect all of these things to be hand-delivered, to my office, from you, by no later than three this afternoon."

Without waiting for his response, she spun on her heel and left.

At two fifty-nine pm, he ambled in, putting the box on her desk with a satisfied look.

"Your supplies," he jerked a finger at the box, "And remember when this backfires on you that I had nothing to do with it."

"Agreed," she nodded.

That night, after Angela had dragged Zack and Hodgins home, and Seeley had dragged Dr. Brennan to dinner, Cam returned to the lab and set up the first of several traps that she had devised in order to catch the thief. Satisfied that her chocolate stash would soon be safe, she left.

The next morning when she arrived, everyone else was present and hard at work. She waited until lunch to check on her stash. A hissing noise left her when she found her candy missing, and in its place, a pair of latex gloves covered in the marking powder that the FBI used to mark bills that they didn't want to be stolen.

Similar scenarios played out throughout the week as one by one, each of her carefully executed traps was foiled. Finally, she decided that it was time to go to the mattresses. That night, she set up the same trap that she had used the first time, this time augmenting one small detail.

"You look happy," Seeley observed the next day when he stopped by to waste time at the lab while waiting for Brennan's results, "Find the culprit?"

"Yup," she smirked, "Though your FBI supplies were useless."

He shrugged, "Play in the deep end of the pool…"

"Oh, I played alright," she grinned.

"So, who was it?" Booth wanted to know.

She had just opened her mouth to answer when Brennan knocked on her door and entered.

"Dr. Saroyan," she said, "Angela has just informed me that neither Zack nor Hodgins will be coming into the office today. Apparently, they've both contracted an acute case of food poisoning."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan," Cam nodded stoically.

She raised an eyebrow and nodded at Seeley, who winked and offered her a salute before corralling his partner out of Cam's office and back to the lab. The pathologist allowed herself an indulgent smile, popped a piece of chocolate from her now-safe stash, and thanked God for Ex-lax and her grandmother's famous fudge recipe.


	98. Last Hope

Last Hope

"I don't like it," the man frowned deeply.

"We have no choice," the woman beside him said matter-of-factly.

"There's always a choice."

"Not this time."

"I can protect us," he insisted.

"I know that you _want_ to," she assured him, squeezing his forearm, "But you may not be able to this time."

The man hung his head, knowing that his wife's argument made sense, though he didn't like it one bit.

"The move, the name changes," he slumped down further in the booth they were sitting in, wishing he could be anywhere else, "All of that was supposed to have secured things for us."

She shrugged, "It didn't and there's nothing we can do to change that. All we can do is move forward and remove ourselves from harm as soon as possible."

"What will this do to the kids?" he looked into her eyes, knowing that his own would look hollow by now, "It was one thing when they were little and could adapt, but this life is all they've ever known. And Tempe," his voice grew soft, "She deserves so much more than a life on the lam."

"I know, Max," her voice was soft now as well, though still pragmatic, "You're right, we can't take them with us this time. It's too dangerous."

The con artist's head shot up, "What? So we're just going to leave them to fend for themselves? Without going back to explain why we have to go?"

"They wouldn't understand even if we did," she said calmly, "And Russ will take care of Tempe."

"I still don't like it."

"It's our only chance to keep them safe."

"We didn't have kids to abandon them."

"We can't put them in danger, either."

"Fine," he agreed, defeated, "But when this is over, we're coming back for them."

"Of course, Max," she said, "And one day we'll be a family again."


	99. Tears

Tears

The young boy swung his feet back and forth under the chair he was sitting in, feeling very bored. He supposed that when his mother told him to stay here in the _waiting_ room he should have guessed he would have to _wait_ for her to come back- but he never figured it would take her so long.

He looked around the room. All of his dad's friends were here, including Dr. Sweets- who had babysat for Parker that one time after he had found the finger in the nest- and Dr. Jack- who had an awesome bug collection that he let Parker look at. Parker's science club teacher, Mr. Max, was here too, but he heard Ms. Angela say that he was mostly here to make sure Dr. Bones was okay. Uncle Jared was busy walking back and forth, looking very nervous.

Parker shifted on the chair again. He was used to coming to the hospital to see either his dad or Dr. Bones, so he wasn't too scared. He knew that something was wrong from the way everyone kept looking at him sadly and being really nice to him. Mom had even said he could play his DS for as long as he wanted. That had been fun at first, but now he was bored and he wondered if anyone would _ever_ tell him what was going on with his dad and Dr. Bones.

Footsteps came toward the waiting room and as the big double-doors opened, everyone stopped what they were doing and got very quiet. It was his mom and Dr. Bones and both of them looked like they had been crying. Everyone looked at Dr. Bones like they were expecting her to say something, but instead, she walked over and knelt down beside Parker's chair and looked him in the eyes.

"Your father had a tumor that was inside of his brain," she told him, pointing to a spot on her head, "The surgeons have removed it successfully, however, and do not believe it was cancerous."

"No cancer is good," he said, then thought for a moment, "Did bad guys put the tumor in his brain?"

Most of his dad's hospital visits came because of the bad guys, so he wondered if they were behind this visit too.

"Oh no," she shook her head, "It's been growing inside of him for quite some time."

"Like ringworm?" Parker had gotten that last year at day care.

"Somewhat," she nodded, "The important thing, though, is that the tumor has been removed so that he can fully recover."

"Can I see him?"

"I'm afraid not yet," she said, sounding sad for him, "The anesthesia that they gave him to remain unconscious during the surgery is still at work."

"Daddy's not awake yet, Parker," Mom explained, though he had figured that much out already, "You'll need to wait a while to see him."

"Will _you_ be with him?" he asked Dr. Bones.

"Yes," she told him.

"Good," he smiled, "You're Daddy's bestest friend so I think he'd like that. And then he won't be alone when he wakes up."

One tiny tear slid down Dr. Bones' cheek and without thinking, he reached over and brushed it off of her cheek. Daddy always told him that it's okay to cry when you're sad and that when someone else is sad, you should help cheer them up. Daddy also told him that girls like hugs when they're sad, so Parker got up from his chair and gave Dr. Bones a big hug around her neck.

She hugged him back, but apparently hugs didn't work as well as Daddy said, because now she was crying even more and all around him, people were sniffing back their tears. He wondered if he should be sad too, but Dr. Bones had said "full recovery" and that meant that Daddy would be better soon, so there really wasn't that much to be sad about.

Dr. Bones was still hugging him when Mom told him that it was time to leave. He nodded and gave his dad's best friend one last, tight hug.

"Don't worry," he whispered in her ear, "Daddy loves us too much to stay asleep forever."

This time, his hug worked, because she gave him a wobbly smile, nodded, then let him go. He smiled his biggest smile at her, waved, and left with Mom, knowing that as long as Dr. Bones was here, his dad would be just fine.


	100. Danger Ahead

**100th Chapter, 99th Theme. Only one more to go folks, then I'm going on maternity leave :)**

**Gum**

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Danger Ahead

He'd known right from the start that it was a bad idea. Yes, they'd had a thing, and yes, they were still friends, but still, there were just some things that you never did with your ex and this was one of them.

_You're a softy, Seeley,_ he chastised himself as he roamed the aisles at Wal-Mart, looking for the perfect gift to take to a party that he never should have agreed to go to in the first place, _And the women in your life can melt you like butter_.

It was true, sadly. He knew that he was a pushover when it came to letting Rebecca call the shots with Parker. He and Bones bickered about things all the time, but he usually let her win, or he let her off way more easily than he would if she was a guy. Probably a good thing that he'd had a son instead of a daughter, because no doubt any little girl of his would have him wrapped around her little finger.

Apparently, Cam still had influence over him too. He'd been on the brink of refusing, when she'd spun her sob story about not telling her family that they'd broken up and that she needed him as leverage again Felicia. He really didn't have anything against her family and Cam assured him that this was a one-time thing, so he'd accepted.

It took him a while, but he finally found the perfect gift in the electronics section. What guy didn't like a universal remote? He bought one of those pre-wrapped gift boxes and headed home to get ready, then it was off to the lab.

He was nervously waiting for Cam when Felicia showed up. The conversation got awkward and just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, she'd planted a big fat one on his lips and he wasn't sure, but he might've kissed back. Then Cam had come out- completely oblivious to what had just gone down- and announced that she was ready to go.

_Oh yeah_, Booth thought as he herded both women out the door before a catfight ensued, _this is __not__ a good idea and as soon as Cam finds out what her sister did- I'm screwed._


	101. Relaxation

**I purposefully left #100 for last, so I hope you enjoy.**

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Relaxation

"Okay, people," Cam said as the Squint Squad plus Booth stood outside of the Jeffersonian, "You heard the men. The fumes are too unsafe right now for any of us to be inside for the next forty-eight hours, so consider yourselves off until then."

A chorus of groans arose from Hodgins, Vincent, and Bones, but Cam stood her ground and suggested that if they didn't want this to happen in the future they should _think_ before they performed superfluous experiments. Bones argued that she _hadn't_ sanctioned this latest one, nor would she have had she know about it. Cam shrugged her shoulders, but refused to change her mind.

"So what do you wanna do, Bones?" Booth asked, looking over at his partner, who had sulked all the way to the car.

"I suppose I should have you take me home," she sighed, "There is some correspondence that I need to reply to and I'm sure that there is some housework that needs to be done as well."

"Housework?" Booth wrinkled his nose, "Com' on, Bones, it's a perfect day out, we don't have to work, and you want to lock yourself in your _house_ all day?"

"I might go for a run," she said defensively.

"You should relax," he told her, "Enjoy the day."

"What are you going to do?" she deflected.

"Go home, change out of this monkey suit," he shrugged, "Maybe head to the park or something for a picnic."

"Fine," she told him as he pulled up to her building, "Would an hour be sufficient enough time for you to prepare yourself?"

"What?" he looked at her, confused, "You're coming with me?"

"You didn't intend for me to?" she looked up suddenly, "Of course you didn't. That was quite presumptuous of me and I apolo-"

"I'd love it if you hung out with me, Bones," he cut her off with a finger to her lips, "And an hour should be way more than enough time."

"Okay," she nodded, "I'll prepare a salad if you'd like and some sort of dessert food."

"Sounds good," he grinned, "I'll bring the sandwiches, chips, and some drinks."

They parted ways and Booth drove home, wondering what in the world he had gotten himself into. Precisely an hour later, there was a knock on his door. Bones had changed into jeans and a baby-doll t-shirt and smiled at him when he opened the door. She had a cloth bag that he assumed had some food in it with her and asked if he was ready to leave. He nodded, grabbed the rest of the food and a blanket, and they left.

The park that Booth had picked was within walking distance of his apartment and they both decided that they'd rather take in the fresh air than drive. Booth had a small cooler with the sandwiches and drinks in it slung over his shoulder, while Bones insisted on carrying her food and the blanket. They found a shady spot under a big oak tree and settled down to eat.

Conversation was light as they munched their way through the meal. A couple of months back he'd discovered that she liked PB&Js as much as he did, so that's what he'd gone with for the sandwiches. She'd also approved of the Pringles he'd brought and actually giggled with glee when he showed her that he'd brought a can of sour cream and onion ones just for her.

Then she brought out her food and he prayed there was nothing with tofu in it. He was pleasantly surprised when the salad turned out to be a fruit salad- complete with a little shaker of powdered sugar for him. For dessert, she produced a pound cake with a thick and creamy chocolate mousse to dip it in; though she refused to divulge her recipe, even when he employed his charm smile.

After lunch, they packed everything that was left in the cooler and set off for a walk around one of the park's trails. As Booth had pointed out earlier, the weather was perfect for being outside and Bones seemed more than happy that she hadn't stayed inside after all. When they finished the circuit, they headed back to his apartment.

"That was fun," he smiled, fishing out two bottles of water for them from his fridge.

"It was very diverting, yes," she agreed, chugging down the water as soon as he gave it to her.

She frowned when she finished.

"What wrong, Bones?" he asked, concerned.

"Well," she said slowly, "I've just noticed that it's only one o'clock in the afternoon."

"So?"

"So we still have over forty hours left until we can return to the lab," the frowned deepened, "I would have thought that our activities would have taken more time, however, it appears I was wrong."

"What do ya wanna do next?" he asked.

"I'm not certain," she replied.

"How about bowling?" he suggested.

She made a face and he took it as a no. He suggested they go to a movie next, but when they looked online neither one of them could find one that they agreed on. She suggested that they play a board game, but they couldn't decide on one of those either.

"You know," she said, as they sunk into the couch, "This relaxation concept is not as easy as one would presume it to be."

He offered her a half-smile, "We're just too used to working, that's all."

She nodded, "What would you normally do in a situation like this?"

He shrugged, "Honestly, it's been so long since I had the time to relax, I'm not sure what to do. Normally on the weekends I don't work I have Parker. He keeps things interesting enough. What do you do?"

"Housework," she replied, "Sometimes Angela will take me to an art exhibit, or some such thing. If I have no obligations or social engagements, then I read."

"Nothing like a good book and a hot cup of coffee on a rainy day," Booth smiled.

"Indeed," she returned the smile.

"I'm guessing that you'd cuddle up with a forensic journal, though," he teased.

"Sometimes," she admitted, "Though I have a large collection of classic novels that I enjoy as well. What do you read?"

"Tolkien," he shrugged, "And, you know, there's this Temperance Brennan person who writes fairly decent stuff."

"I heard that she dedicated a book to you," Bones said slyly.

"Yeah," he ducked his head, "Something like that."

"Perhaps we should read, then, if that's something we both enjoy."

"You mean together or separately?" he asked.

"Either one," she said easily, "My mother and father used to read to me every night when I was a child, and as I grew older I would read to them as well."

"Parker and I do that sometimes," he said.

He stood up and went over to a stack of books that was on his floor while she grabbed a blanket and nestled in the corner of the couch. He sat down beside her and she offered him a corner of the blanket.

"You ready?" he asked.

She nodded her head, "Let me know when you would like me to read."

"Will do," he smiled, "Now, just sit back and relax, Bones."

To his surprise, she listened, leaning her head back to rest in the back of the couch and closing her eyes.

He opened the book and began reading, "In a hole, in a ground there lived a hobbit…"

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**Thank you all so much for going on this LONG journey with me. I can't believe I actually finished them, but I'm happy that I did. I hope you all have a great week and I'll see you sometime- I'm sure musie won't let me stay away for too long! If you have a favorite, let me know what it is!  
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**Take care,**

**GUM :)**


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